


The Icy Tide

by TheLawWon21



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLawWon21/pseuds/TheLawWon21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War for the Iron Throne marches on while The King of Winter fights for his family and his people. Unlikely alliances spark a shift in the tide of the war, while events north of the Wall threaten to destabilize the entire realm. A/U following GoT</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own A Game of Thrones of or A Song of Ice and Fire

_Winter is coming_. Those were the words that were spinning through the King of the North's weary mind that night. Even though he was sitting in his chambers in Riverrun, far from his home in Winterfell and the North, he could already feel a chill that spoke of things to come.  If it were only the weather that he had to concern himself over he would consider it a fortuitous thing.  The overbearing weight that came with the loss of his Father had not waned. It felt like it had manifested itself physically into his very being.  He was a man, a soldier, a leader of men, and now a King.  He had won battles against his enemies, but still the loss of his Father had left him feeling like lost child.  Robb knew he had to place the feeling aside, but it was not so easy.

    It was the dead of night, and he could not sleep.  His chambers were brilliantly furnished, fit for his new royal status, but they offered him little solace.  Robb stood from his chair, where he had been analyzing numerous maps, and walked towards the balcony that stretched out from his room.  The cool night air became even more prominent, but it was not unpleasant.  It reminded him of home.  Home. That was where he most wanted to be. His Father had raised him to be Lord of Winterfell, not a King marching an army south.  But so long as Sansa and Arya were in the hands of the Lannisters, he was left with little choice.

    Robb stared out over the land, where he could see his men camped, their fires still burning brightly.   Umber men, Bolton men, Glover men, Karstark men, and Manderly men among many others; they had all proven their worth, proven their hardiness.  They were _true_ men of the North.  The fact that they had won victories and captured the Kingslayer had made them even more confident, more fearsome, and though he felt unworthy, he was proud to be their King. Yet the question that lingered in his mind was _what next?_

He listened to the shouts and drunken revelry of his army for several minutes longer before he turned back inside. His thoughts turned towards his Mother, and the grief that she was consumed with.  Not only had she lost her husband, but now she was confronted with the imminent loss of her Father, his own Grandfather. His Mother was a strong, proud woman and she had tried to be strong for his sake, but there were still glimpses of her lingering pain.  His love for her drove his conviction to bring back his sisters even more.

  Robb walked over to a basin of water next to his bed and scooped a handful of the liquid onto his face.  The water was refreshing, and felt like it was temporarily washing some of his troubles away. He grabbed a cloth, patted his face dry and sat down on his luxurious feather bed.  As soon as the back of his head touched down on his pillow, he could hear soft steps on the stone floor come rapidly towards him. Robb did not even turn because he knew whom they belonged to.  Soon enough, a giant mass of grey fur was standing on the bed next to him.

   Grey Wind's golden eyes stared deeply at him, and Robb knew that his companion had sensed his unease.  The living embodiment of the Stark sigil lay down and placed his head onto Robb's stomach. He reached up and ran his hand through the direwolf's thick fur, and let the steady breathing of the animal calm him. He was amazed at the dynamic of Grey Wind.  One moment he was a fearsome monster who savagely tore the throats out of men, and the next he was as docile as any trained hound.   It seemed that everything that night was intent on making him long for home. He could still remember the day his Father allowed them to keep the wolf pups.  That memory, a small comfort, along the with the steady rise and fall of Grey Wind's breathing, finally eased him to sleep.

 

   

    "Your Grace."

     Robb's eyes drifted open, and he immediately placed his hand onto Grey Wind's head to stop the wolf from growling at Robb's new squire as if he were a meal.

     "Good morning Olyvar," Robb greeted, throwing his legs off the side of the bed.  He ran his hand through his wild hair, attempting to tame it.  He liked the long curls, but knew they would have to be controlled soon or he would resemble more a wildling than a King.

      "Sorry to disturb your rest Your Grace, but your War Council is meeting this morning."

       Robb stood now, stretching his stiffened muscles that had been subjected to non-stop travel and fighting. "There's nothing to apologize for Olyvar. I would be more upset if you hadn't."

       "Of course, Your Grace," Olyvar said, bowing his head in acknowledgement. "Should I have your meal brought to your chambers, or will you dine with the Council?"

       "I have only been King for a matter of days Olyvar.  The need to place myself above my men has not sunk in as of yet, so I think I will eat with them."

       "Yes Your Grace."

      "And if at anytime I begin to sound like that little shit _King Joffrey,_ I give you my full, Kingly permission to strike me with my own crown."

       "Very good, Your Grace," Olyvar responded, his face full of confusion and worry as to whether or not Robb was joking.  "Will that be all, sir?"

       "I believe I don't require my squire to dress me for a meeting of my Council," Robb smirked at Walder Frey's son.  Olyvar bowed again, and made his way through the door and passed the guards who stood watch at the entrance.  _Although, if I don't give the Kingslayer to Lord Karstark I may actually have need of my armor,_ Robb thought to himself.  He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a leather jerkin and his belt and sword. Once he had them fastened properly, he laced his boots and walked over to a table on which rested the newest addition to his wardrobe.

      He was not sure who exactly thought the idea of a crown as a symbol for Kingship was a good idea, but they had obviously never worn one previously. His was made of bronze and iron, a Northerner's crown, with swords circling around its length. It was splendid to look at, but wearing it for any long duration was a different matter all together. There was no position in which it sat comfortably, and it irritated his scalp and gave him pains in his head, but it was expected of him now. To not where it would be disrespect to those who made it and those who elevated him to his new mantle.

     Robb sighed as the cool metal finally rested against his forehead, and then made his way towards the splendid wooden door.  He briefly acknowledged the soldiers guarding him, but came up short when a familiar face was there waiting as well.

     "Theon," Robb greeted his friend, who looked as if he had experienced an eventful night.  His clothes were drastically disheveled and his hair was thrown in all different directions.

     "Your Grace," Theon replied in an exaggerated manner. He was still inclined to call Robb by his name, but with others in earshot, he used the expected courtesy. "You look as if you haven't slept."

     "You're one to speak," Robb countered, evading an answer to the remark, not keen to reveal his own trouble sleeping.  "You look as if you've been rolling around with the dogs."

     "Not dogs, _girls_ ," Theon smirked lecherously. "I fucked two of the kitchen servants I saw at dinner last night. It seems being one of the King's closest advisors has its advantages."

     "You really have no shame do you?" Robb inquired as they began walking down the halls towards where his Council met.  "It isn't enough you probably have bastards running around the North, but now you need them in the Riverlands as well?"

     "I consider it an accomplishment."

     " _You_ would. And you best not push your luck. This was my Mother's home, and my Grandfather is lying on his deathbed.  If she hears your running rabid through Riverrun, she's going to come for your head, and she'll want me to give it."

     "You need a girl Your Grace," Theon suggested, clearly not affected by Robb's warning.  "All of this stress of being King and fighting wars would be eased if you had someone to warm your bed at night."

       "If you have forgotten, and I don't imagine you have, I'm promised to some Frey girl who I've never met or seen.  I would rather not have a beautiful girl for a short while and then have to leave her when I marry a Frey with a face that could startle a dragon."

      "So just fuck an ugly girl."

       Robb did not even offer a response to Theon's vileness, because they had reached the Council chambers.  The guards who had followed him took their places outside the doors, while Robb led in the Greyjoy heir.  Olyvar was standing right inside the entrance and as soon as Robb crossed the threshold, the squire was announcing the King's arrival.  Those already at the large table stood to show their respect, but Robb quickly waved them back down.  He took a seat at the head of the table, with his Mother on his left and Uncle Edmure next to her.  Lord Jason Maillister already took the seat to Robb’s right, so Theon found a seat further down the table next to Galbert Glover.  Robb did notice that there were some who were missing from the Council.

     "How is my Grandfather?" he asked his Mother, who still looked emotionally fragile.

     "He still clings to life.  I'm not sure for how much longer though.  The maester is keeping him asleep so that he is no pain."

     "I will visit him with you later, if that would be acceptable."

    "Of course Your Grace." His Mother referring to him as _Your_ _Grace_ was something he had not become accustomed to.  He knew that some of it was for the sake of appearance, but he also knew that his Mother was unhappy with him.  She wanted her daughters back, and believed that Robb was not doing everything in his power to make that happen.  However, there was no way he would remain King if he gave the Kinglsayer up in exchange for two young girls.  He would be blamed for every Northerner who fell at the hands of an army led once again by Jaime Lannister.  It would not be so easy to best him in battle again.

     Most of the table had already began to indulge on various platters of food, but a servant came a placed a plate of fresh bread and sausage in front of him, along with a cup of strong ale.  As he began picking at his plate, his attention was once again drawn to the fact that not everyone was present.  Lord Karstark was not in attendance, but that was not much of a surprise. There were others missing though, mostly his Grandfather's bannerman. 

       "Uncle," Robb got Edmure's attention.  "It would seem we are light on River Lords this morn."

        Edumre, nervously took a deep drink from his cup before he answered. "Your Grace, the Lannisters have dramatically increased their raids on the towns and the smallfolk. Gregor Clegane and his men are raping and burning through the countryside.  Some of the Lords have returned to their keeps to reinforce their own defenses, and unfortunately that has decreased the size of your forces."

         "They will not be the only ones Your Grace," Greatjon Umber roared from further down the table.  "The longer we sit here, nice and safe in our bloody beds, the longer Tywin Lannister has to pick us apart.  We must hit them back!"  Most of the Lords around the table were quick to voice their agreement.  Only the Blackfish did not look enthused.

        "Aye, we need to do something, but marching straight into Tywin Lannister's waiting arms is not it," Brynden Tully blustered.  "He's picking at us like a vulture, trying to lure us south."

        "What would you suggest then?" Robb asked, having pushed away the plate of food, his appetite lacking.

        "I suggest we attack, but somewhere that gives _us_ the chance of drawing the Lions out of Harrenhall. Instead of heading south, we should march our forces west."

        "West is Lannister country," Theon added.

         "Exactly," the Blackfish agreed. "They hear we are marching toward _their_ home and Tywin won't be left with a choice but to move his forces."

         "But what of Riverrun," Edmure interjected, deep lines of concern on his face.  "If the army marches, Tywin could use our own tactics against us.  The castle will stand unguarded and ripe for an attack, and my Father is in no state to withstand a siege."

         "It's a gamble," Robb nodded.

         "It is more than a gamble!" his Mother exclaimed angrily. This was one of those moments that Robb despised.  He loved his Mother, and knew that he would not have made it this far without her the strength that she had helped instill in him.  But this was war, and he was a King.  His responsibilities were now diverse and far-reaching.  He would not be King Joffrey, led around on a leash by Cersei Lannister.

        "I understand what moving the army means," Robb began patiently and firmly, "but I would not leave Riverrun completely exposed.  It would only need to hold strong until we could swing back and attack them from behind. They would not be able to sack the castle so quickly."

        "If it is any consolation, Lady Stark, I believe the chances of the Lannisters bringing a full assault against Riverrun is remote," Roose Bolton explained. "We have had ravens bring news that Renly Barotheon is heading towards King's Landing as we speak, and Stannis is gathering his forces at Dragonstone.  It would likely take a direct threat to Casterly Rock for him to commit his army.  He would risk the ability to defend an attack on the false king."  Robb did not particularly like Roose Bolton. It was hard to like someone who proudly flew a flayed man as his sigil.  But in this instance the man was right.

        "Is this what we speak of then?" Galbert Glover asked. "Are we going after the Rock?"

        "It is the strongest move we can make, other than marching on King's Landing" Robb proclaimed.  "And the boldest."

         "It will not be easy though, Your Grace," Clement Piper, Lord of Pinkmaiden, cautioned.  "My son has received word from home that the Kingslayer's men have retreated to the Tooth. They've been reinforced with men from Casterly Rock."

       "What is their strength?"  Robb grabbed paper and ink to make note of the numbers.

       "Between six and seven thousand men Your Grace," Marq Piper answered. "That would be our greatest challenge as it is the only the direct route to the Rock.  If we managed to get past them, then we would have to worry over small forces from Ashemark and the Crag."

        "How feasible would it be to actually take and hold Casterly Rock?" Robb needed real information now, not platitudes for a King. 

        "I know you remember the stories your Father told you as a boy Robb," his Mother asserted.  "The Rock has never fallen, _let alone_ been occupied for any length of time."  It was clear to Robb from her tone what her position on this endeavor was.

        "The problems are twofold Your Grace." Lord Piper stood from his seat and walked closer to Robb so that he could point to a large map in the center of the table.  "Once you pass through the Tooth and other towns, the problem will be actually penetrating the Rock.  It is _literally_ built into a hill of stone. That is where the defenders have the advantage.  Our forces are going to be funneled into halls and passageways where our superiority in number will mean nothing.  Meanwhile archers and siege weapons from higher levels will rain death on the soldiers waiting to enter."

         "And the second problem..." Robb requested.

         "Lannisport Your Grace.  The port is well defended, which means we will have to strike two targets at once, dividing some of our forces.   Then there are also Lannister ships that we will have to contend with."

          "Stannis may take care of that situation for us," the Greatjon stated. "If his arse is leaving Dragonstone, he's doing it with a fleet of ships.  No doubt the crazy boy in King's Landing has summoned every ship he can get his hands on."

           "Possible, but I doubt the Lannisters would allow Lannisport to be completely open to an attack from sea," Lord Piper challenged. "Just a few ships could ferry in soldiers from Crakehall or Faircastle."

           "What we _need_ Your Grace...are ships," Theon spoke up.  "If we had ships we could attack the Lannisters from multiple fronts, and catch them in a trap."  Robb knew immediately what Theon was getting at, and the truth was that he was cautiously intrigued by it, although he knew the rest of his bannermen wouldn't be.

            "I have a small fleet in Seagard, Your Grace, but not enough to survive any prolonged attack," Lord Mallister stated.

           "I'm not speaking of ships from Seagard, Lord Mallister." _Well, here it comes_ , Robb thought.  "Call for an alliance with my Father, Lord Balon Greyjoy. The Iron Islands have ships, strong ships and real sailors who would like nothing more than to attack the Lannisters."

         The uproar that followed Theon's proposal happened just as Robb predicted. The first man off his feet was Jason Mallister, who had spent most of his life fending off raids from the Iron Islands.  He banged his fist fiercely against the table, unnecessarily reminding everyone of the failed Greyjoy Rebellion. Robb was grateful for the fact that he declined to bring up that he had killed Theon's brother in that same rebellion. Robb tried to talk over the others, but it was a fruitless attempt, as they were all frenzied with getting their points across.  Luckily, the Greatjon was there to assist him.

       "Shut your mouths!" The Greatjon roared.  "Your King is trying to speak!"

        "Thank you, Lord Umber," Robb bowed his head to his loyal bannerman. "As I was _trying_ to say, I agree with Theon that strategically his idea is sound.  And I also understand all of your concerns about an alliance with the Iron Islands. I'll make no decision now, but will think on it more.  For now let us discuss the task of moving and supplying our forces through the Westerlands."

        Robb had learned quickly into his tenure as a soldier and King that the fighting and dying parts of war were the easiest parts.  It was the tedious planning that was required which made it a burden. Figuring out where to camp twenty thousand men, and how much food was needed to sustain twenty thousand men were things that Robb had to admit were out of his field of knowledge. His bannermen were experienced fighters, who had led men into battle and he gleaned every bit of wisdom he could off of them.

         The Council lasted for hours, detailing a warpath and going over reports from their scouts around the countryside.  Once a tentative plan had been agreed on. Robb called an end to the meeting and allowed his Lords to go and start making preparations.  He piled the sheets of parchment that he had made notes on when he saw that the only two people left in the room aside from him and his squire were Theon and his Mother.

         "Olyvar, could you escort Theon back to my chambers?  I mean to speak with him after I'm finished here."

          "Yes, Your Grace."  Theon only raised a brow, but he realized that Robb needed to discuss things with his Mother.

          Only when Theon and Olyvar were gone, and the door shut, did Lady Stark begin to speak. "This whole plan is a folly, Robb."

           "Which part?"

            "All of it.  You have won _two_ battles, and now you mean to march on the Westerlands as if it is of no consequence.  The Lannisters will not surrender their home without a fight.  Tywin Lannister has men in his pocket whom will come to defend Casterly Rock, men who he has bought with his considerable wealth."

           "Aye, he has sell swords and hedge knights whose loyalty swings at the drop of a gold coin.  We have Northerners and River Lords who are fighting for their homes and their families. I'll take my army over theirs in any fight."

           "Robb, do not overestimate the honor of your own men," Catelyn warned. "Gold has a power over men like little else.  Walder Frey is a shining example of that."

           "I will trust my men until they give me good reason not to, Mother."

           "And now you want to place your trust, the lives of your men, into the hands of a Greyjoy?"

           "We have no ships," Robb stated, pointing to troop figures on his map.  "The Lannisters do, and if they keep refusing to come to terms with us, then we won't have a choice, but to fight them on _all_ fronts.  And what if we defeat the Lannisters and Stannis is not willing to separate Westeros? He will have ships to crush us with as well."

        "The Greyjoys are nothing but raiders and pirates who steal and kill. They have no honor at all. The fact that Theon Greyjoy still serves as our hostage should be evidence enough of that.  You think Balon Greyjoy will look kindly on you for it?"

      " _Honor_ does not win any battles Mother!" Robb bristled.  "My Father lived his whole life honorably, and I admire him for it, but it cost him his head because his enemies would not play by his rules."  Robb stopped when he saw that the mention of Ned Stark caused his Mother to flinch.  He did not wish to upset her, but she needed to understand his position.  "Theon is no great example of chivalry, I know, but he is my friend and I trust him.  He was raised as a man of the North, and never treated like a prisoner for a single day while he was at Winterfell."

       "It does not matter what Theon feels," Catelyn chided. "Balon is the one who lost sons fighting against Ned, the one who was forced to part with his heir," his Mother argued.

      "Then Theon and I will have to convince him.  It was not just Starks who smashed the Greyjoy Rebellion. It was Lannisters and Baratheons and their bannermen as well.  Stannis and Tywin will come calling for their aide eventually, and better for us if we secure their allegiance first."

       "What do you have to offer that Tywin Lannister cannot?"

       "A reunion with his son and heir...and Casterly Rock."

       "You mean to give the _Greyjoy's_ Casterly Rock?" His Mother questioned, obviously taken aback.

        "Yes, I do.  If we want the Greyjoys to stop raiding our coasts, then we must give them incentive not to. The Iron Islands are a chain of ruins and Casterly Rock is the biggest piece of plunder they could hope for. We'll offer them a chance to make a new name for themselves."

        "You will not convince me of the wisdom of this plan, Robb."

        "I am the _King,_ it is not my responsibility to convince my _Mother_ of my battle strategy."

         He had dealt his Mother a blow, and he could clearly tell that his statement staggered her.  She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find a retort, but she seemed to think better of it.  "That is true Your Grace. If that is all I will take my leave to visit my Father."

         "You may go, Mother."  She turned gracefully and exited through the door without another word. Only when he could no longer hear her footsteps echoing down the hall did he fall back into his seat. He rubbed his hands over his tired eyes and could only think that this day his crown felt even heavier.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The moment Robb walked back into his chambers, Theon thrust a cup of wine into his hand.  "What is this for?"

       "If I had a private audience with your Mother, I'd need a cup of strong wine afterwards," Theon stated, drinking deeply from his own cup.

      Robb removed his cumbersome crown before he replied.  "If I was not so frustrated with her, I'd likely put you on the ground for that remark."

        "You could try."

        "Ah, but you see, I'm a King now.  I would have someone do it for me," Robb explained, sipping on the slightly tart liquid that filled his own cup.

        "Point made," Theon agreed.  The dark-haired, Iron Islander took a seat at a small table in the corner of the room.

         "What did you do with my squire?"

          "Sent him to go polish your armor," Theon answered with a laugh.

          "And he actually listened to you?"

          "He is a Frey, what do you expect?

          "He has been more than tolerable so far.  I think he is actually more relieved to be away from the Twins, than to be squire for the King."

          "Can't fault him there."

          Robb removed his sword before taking a seat across from his friend. "We must be serious now," Robb sighed, his late night already catching up to him. "My bannermen will think my mind lost, but I want your Father's ships.  I _need_ his ships, Theon."

          "Then allow me the honor of bringing them to you Your Grace," Theon practically pleaded, leaning forward in his seat.

          "It is not that simple, and you know it Theon.  My Mother and I may be feuding, but the points that she made to me are not any less relevant.  You were taken from your home, away from your Father as a hostage.  That is no small thing that can be overlooked."

          "It was my Father's own foolish ambition that caused it," Theon argued. "For all of the killing and stealing my people do they still live on a pile of shit in the middle of the sea. No one respects our name; we're nothing more than _outlaws._ He is more responsible for my absence then the Starks are."

         "Yes, well your Father and the rest of his men will have to be satisfied with what I'm willing to give them, because for an alliance to sustain, I won't suffer thievery and murder.  And what I'm willing to offer is no small thing."

         "And what would that be?"

         "I would make your Father Lord of Casterly Rock, with you his heir."

         "Tywin Lannister's own home?"

       "Yes, a big prize, but my terms must be met.  I want Balon's ships and swords, but he _must_ agree to follow the law of our new Kingdom or he gets nothing, and I will personally lead a force to take it back.  He will be a _subject_ , not a ruler."

      "Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Casterly Rock and the Iron Islands. I do like the sound of that. Imagine the women..."

      "I'm not joking Theon," Robb growled.  "You are like a brother to me, but this is a dangerous game we're about to undertake.  I'm putting every bit of trust and faith I have into you.  Truthfully, I'd rather have you fighting by my side, but I'm going to send you home to Pyke."

       "You have my promise, I will convince my Father, Robb.  And if he won't agree to your terms, I'll be on a ship, ready to rejoin your army."

       "I would not condemn you if you chose to stay with your family."

       "And leave you to make _King Joffrey's_ life miserable without me?  There is no chance of it," Theon grinned, before he turned uncharacteristically serious. "Your Father was a good man, and he treated me better than any man in Westeros would have in the same circumstances. I owe it to him help avenge his death and bring back his daughters."

        Robb was genuinely touched by Theon's words, but chose not to make either of them uncomfortable by vocally acknowledging it.  "It will take three days to ready the army to march, and likely another two before we make it to the Golden Tooth. If we're victorious there, we'll continue on and take Ashemark and the Crag.  If your Father is receptive to my offer, meet me at the Crag. It will be at least fourteen days, assuming we don't have to fend off Tywin Lannister from our heels."

       "How will we know if the Crag is taken?" Theon asked.

       "Look for my banners.  I'll have them flying along the coast, but if something unforeseen occurs, I'll dispatch a raven to Pyke."

       Theon stood from his seat, picked ups his wine cup and drained the last before clapping it back down.  "I should leave as soon as possible if we are going to meet on schedule."

       Robb copied Theon, and rose from his chair.  "I'm going to send Lord Mallister's son with some of his guard to escort you to a ship.  You'll have to give me time to convince Lord Mallister that you won't stab his son in the back."

       "Hmm, I won't be leaving for several days if that is the case. Time enough to say a proper goodbye to the two lovely ladies from last night."

        Before Robb had a chance to inform Theon that he would be leaving that day, a flustered Olyvar Frey burst through the door, out of breath and sweating. "Your Grace, I'm so sorry to disturb you, but they have had to place Lord Karstark in shackles."

      "Why is my fucking bannermen in shackles?" Robb demanded loudly.

       "Your Grace, he tried to break into the dungeon and kill the Kingslayer."

       By the time the last word had left the squire's mouth, Robb had grabbed his sword, but left his crown because he was too infuriated to care about it. He walked up to Olyvar and gripped him by his shirt, unnecessarily rough.  "Where is he now?"

       "Lord Umber threw him into a cell Your Grace."  _Which means he actually threw him,_ Robb thought.  Letting go of his squire, Robb pushed passed him into the hall, and moved swiftly. He could feel others following him, but he was unconcerned about them keeping up.  His thoughts were now on what to do with a stubborn bannerman who refused to listen to orders, a first test in dealing out justice as King.

The stairs down to the dungeon of Riverrun were steep, and as Robb made his way down them he was hit with the stench of waste. The air was so damp and saturated that the torches burning on the walls seemed to be fighting a constant battle to stay lit.  A large contingent of Lords and soldiers were standing at the bottom of the stairs when Robb arrived, whispering among themselves.  They all immediately ceased speaking and turned and bowed their heads to him when they realized the King was among them.

       Robb moved passed them all, and quickly stood in front of the door where the Greatjon was standing sentry.  "What did he do?"

      "Smashed one o' the guards in the head with the pommel of his sword while the other was taking a piss.  Luckily that one got back in time to wrestle Karstark to the ground and call for help," the Greatjon bellowed.  "The old man has lost himself to his grief."

      "From this moment on, I want triple the guard down here.  The only person allowed to see the Kingslayer is me, and anyone else who is _with_ me."

      "Consider it done Your Grace.  I'll speak with your Uncle when this fucking mess is settled."

       "Let me in," Robb ordered, standing straighter.

       "I'll accompany you-"

       "No," Robb stopped him.  "I want to speak with him alone."

       "He's not in his right mind Your Grace," Greatjon warned.

       "Well I'm going to put him back in it."  The Greatjon finally moved away, pulling the heavy wood and iron door open at the same time.  The cell was pitch black, with no windows to provide light, so Robb pulled a torch off of the wall outside.  "Close the door."  Robb heard the door slowly creaking shut behind him.  It was so dark that he wasn't sure where Lord Karstark was, so he swung the torch around until the flames revealed him sitting sprawled in the corner. His long white hair was loose over his shoulders, and his great beard in tangles.  "Lord Karstark," he greeted, his lips barely moving.

        "Your Grace," the beaten man replied without emotion.

         "What am I to do with you?" Robb questioned, pacing the cell. "Not only do you disobey my commands, but you compound that by attacking one of my Grandfather's men. Some men would call that treason my Lord."

         "Call it what you will boy.  Let me put my sword through Lannister's belly and then you can have my head."

          Robb ignored the slight against his title, and stooped down in front of the man. "I don't _want_ your head.  You served my Father well and you've served me well, and I want that legacy to continue. Our families are tied together through blood, and I would never shed that blood lightly, but this has to stop. Jaime Lannister is my prisoner, he will not be harmed unless the order comes from me."

         "He cut down my sons!" Lord Karstark lurched forward, rattling the chains that bound his hands.  Robb forced himself not to flinch.  "They were my boys. I want vengeance!"       

        "I grieve with you for the lives of your sons, but they rode into battle side by side with the rest of our men.   They were soldiers Lord Karstark, and they fought and died bravely.  How many other fathers could lay claim to vengeance against the Kingslayer?"

         "Many," Karstark conceded.

         "Aye, many.  The man attacked my Father, and killed his guard.  His son born of his incest took my Father's head and now has my sisters in King's Landing. I would like nothing more then to put Jaime Lannister's head on a block and swing down true with my blade, but I cannot."

         "So your sisters are more important than justice for my sons."

          "Lord Karstark, if my Mother had her way, she would have me trade Jaime Lannister for my sisters.  The Lannisters would take that deal in a second, and why not?  They would get back the best sword fighter in Westeros, and we would get a family reunion.  I want my little sisters back by my side, but I won't do it at the expense of our cause, at the expense of my men.  He may be the very thing that allows us to make peace.  We all have to make sacrifices my Lord.  Torrhen and Eddard made the biggest sacrifice they could make, and you dishonor their bravery with your actions."

         "They were good men, Your Grace," Lord Karstark stuttered.

         "They were true sons of the North," Robb consoled. "Their names will forever be linked to the capture of the Kingslayer.  I understand your anger, and I would never deprive you of it. However, you should harness it to benefit our cause, not destroy it."

         "I still want to smash Lannisters Your Grace.  I long to meet them in battle again," the older man said, pure retribution in his eyes.

          "You'll have your chance Lord Karstark.  We are going to march on Casterly Rock and rip it from their cold grasp," Robb promised.

         "Casterly Rock," Karstark repeated in awe. "I swear to you, Your Grace, allow me and my men to be the first one through the breach and we will serve the Rock to you on a plate of Lannister gold."

          Robb stood from his crouched position, and turned back towards the door. "You'll make a public apology to the man you struck, and to the rest of the hall at dinner tonight for your actions.  Let that be the end of this, and I'll see that you're at the front of the army on the day we march against the Rock."

        "Of course, thank you Your Grace," Lord Karstark exclaimed as Robb knocked on the door.

       The Greatjon pulled the door open, and Robb placed his torch back in its sconce.  "Get him out of there and remove his chains."

       "Is everything settled Your Grace."

       "For now Lord Umber.  I've given him something else to focus his anger on."

 xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

       Luckily, for Robb's sake, Lord Karstark had humbled himself during the evening meal and apologized for his behavior.  He had been contrite, but Robb could still sense his anger brewing under the surface. Things had not gone over as well when Robb made it known to his Council that he had decided to send Theon away to Pyke.  Words of disagreement flowed freely, but Robb would not be swayed in his opinion. Lord Mallister had been vehemently against sending his son and men with a Greyjoy, but Patrek Mallister had volunteered freely and softened his Father's objection.

      Now they were in the stables, preparing to see the travelers off. Everyone had agreed it would be better for Theon to leave during the night.  Gregor Clegane's incursions into the Riverlands usually occurred during the day, before he retreated closer to Harrenhall for protection. This way there was lesser chance of running into significant resistance, other than small bands of outlaws.

       The stables were relatively quiet.  Fifteen members of Lord Mallister's house guard were accompanying his son, and they had packed their horses while Robb and his bannermen had been at dinner. Jason Mallister stood next to his son, speaking in soft tones.  Robb had come down to the stables alone, having to leave Grey Wind because of the wolf's propensity to startle the horses.  The young King reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment, bearing his seal.  He approached Theon and held it out.

       "This is for your Father.  It contains the terms of my offer.  They will not mean much without your words of persuasion," Robb stated, pulling his cloak tighter around his body.

       "Don't fret Your Grace, I have a _very_ talented tongue.  My Father may be the least of my worries, though.  I know not how much influence my uncles have over him.  Although from what I've heard, one is in exile and another is a priest, whatever that means," Theon shrugged.

       "And what of your sister," Robb asked.

       "Your guess is as good as mine.  She could be married off, she could be sailing in my Father's fleet, or she could be dead for all I know.  My Father was never one to send ravens to inquire about my wellbeing or to send news. Nine years is a long time."

        "Go home Theon," Robb urged.  "Reacquaint yourself with your family and then we will meet again soon to bury the Lannisters for good."

        "That will be a day for the history books Your Grace," Theon vowed. Robb held out his hand and Theon grasped it, and then their goodbye was done.  "Time to leave Mallister," Theon called to Patrek, whose Father had already departed.  Robb left without a word as the men set off for their crucial journey.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

       His thoughts of his featherbed and hours of reinvigorating sleep were dashed when he found his Mother waiting for him in his chambers.  The day had been long enough and he was in no mood for her to make it longer.

      "Mother," he muttered, as he removed his sword and crown. "I would have thought you would be asleep."

       "Sleep does not come as easy as it once did, not since word reached us of your Father's death," she explained.

       "You are not alone in that," he confessed.  "Are you here to talk about our lack of rest, or is there something else?"

       "I came to apologize for being confrontational earlier," his Mother declared. "It is not an enviable thing for a mother to realize that she can no longer protect her children. I will always offer my opinion, but you are a King now and I will respect that.  Has Theon gone?"

      "He has," Robb answered, hanging his cloak.  "I pray they will have an uneventful journey."

       "As do I," Catelyn offered.  "I may not completely trust the Greyjoys, but if your alliance is sealed, it would be a great benefit."

        "If it does not, then we move on and create a new strategy."

        "Your Father would have been very proud of the way you handled Lord Karstark today," his Mother complemented.  "You showed excellent restraint and leadership, and your bannermen will respect you more for it."

        "Thank you Mother."  Robb walked over to where she sat and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Now go to your chambers and rest. I will visit my Grandfather with you tomorrow.  I should have today, our disagreement notwithstanding."

        "He will enjoy that, I'm sure," she said, leaving her seat. "Should I have the maester bring you something to help you rest?"

        "No, that won't be necessary.  Goodnight Mother."

        "Goodnight, son."

         As soon as the door shut behind her, Robb fell back on his bed. He could see Grey Wind was curled in the corner, and his eyes drifted to the darkness outside. He gazed into the night and wondered to himself what the coming days would bring.  He wondered if Sansa and Arya were safe, and whether Bran and Rickon were lonely in Winterfell.  He wondered if there would be a day when they would all be together again.

 

 

       

       

       

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you certain you want to leave my idiot Nephew here, Your Grace?" Brynden Tully asked.  "He has already managed to get himself captured once. It would not do to lose _all_ of Riverrun to his incompetence."

    "I'm certain," Robb affirmed.  "You're more valuable to me in the field than behind the walls of the castle.  I'm leaving Edmure one hundred more men than he needs to hold Riverrun. My Mother will be here as well, and she will not allow him the chance to make a mistake."

     "Aye, it's probably for the best.  I'm not sure how much longer my Brother is for this world.  Even if my frigid Niece won't leave the Eyrie, it's good that two of his children will be here to see him off."

      "I won't force you to leave if you would rather stay," Robb advised.

      "We've made our peace Your Grace.  I'll say a prayer for him as I ride down lions."

        Robb and the Blackfish walked over the drawbridge that covered Riverrun's moat and down the path that led to the field between the Red Fork and the Tumblestone. Three days had passed by quickly, but the work had been done and the preparations for a march made. Robb would be able to field a force of close to twelve thousand infantry and seven thousand horsemen. He hoped that his numbers would swell as they passed by some of the minor houses that had retreated to defend their lands. The Greatjon had been awarded command of the infantry that had already begun their march to Wayfarer's Rest with the supply carts.  Robb would lead the cavalry and catch up with the rest of the men, while also covering their advance.

       Robb walked with the Blackfish to where Olyvar had tied three horses, one for each of them, to an old post.  "Are the horses packed?" He questioned his squire, who was already fitted with his armor.

      "Yes Your Grace, and I have your armor here," the young man responded, holding up the pack in his hand.  Robb moved forward and allowed his squire to attach his plate armor, which was wrapped in leather.  Then came his arm guards and finally his furred cape.  It was heavy, but he had adjusted to the weight well enough.  After he was properly attired, he walked to his own great warhorse and ran his hand down its mane.  He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw his Mother and Uncle walking down the same path he had traveled from.  He left his horse and walked to meet them.

       "Mother, Uncle," Robb greeted.

       "I came to see you off," Catelyn sighed, clearly upset at the prospect of having to part ways with her son.  "Be as safe as you can manage.  Rely on your mind as much as your sword."

       Robb moved forward and embraced his Mother tightly.  "I will," he promised her, with as much truthfulness as he could manage.  "Try not to worry yourself too much.  We'll have Sansa and Arya back soon."

      "I do not doubt you."

      Robb reluctantly left his place in front of his remaining parent, and stood in front of Edmure. "Be well Uncle. We are counting on you to hold Riverrun. It _cannot_ fall."

     "It will not fall Your Grace," Edmure proclaimed, standing proudly. "I wish you a productive journey."

      "At the first sight of Tywin's army, send ravens to Pinkmaiden and Wayfarer's Rest.  Riders will get word to us from there."

      "Of course Your Grace."

      "There is another matter to discuss Robb," his Mother added, grabbing his attention.  "A raven came from Renly Baratheon to inquire about an alliance against the Lannisters."

       "And what would he have of me?" Robb drawled.

       "Agree to bend your knee to him as the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and he offers to make you Warden of the North and of the Riverlands. He requests that you march your army south against Tywin Lannister and Harrenhall."

        "He requests that I bend over for him, is what he asks," Robb scoffed. "He sits in Storm's End proclaiming himself King, yet doing nothing to prove himself one. He would have me fight his war for him...throw my men against the walls of Harrnehall so that they could die for his crown.  There will be no more bowing to Baratheons."

       "What shall I write back?" his Mother requested, not at all surprised by his stance.

        "I'll leave the content of the letter in your capable hands. My own response would not be so diplomatic."  Robb bowed his head to his Mother, then walked back over and lifted himself so that he was sitting astride his horse.  He encouraged the horse forward and rode next to his bannermen who were already waiting. He nodded to each of them then turned to face his men, some who were still on the ground, others ready to move.

        "Men of the North!  Men of the Riverlands!" Robb roared, the words straining his throat.  "The Lannisters have been a plague on these lands for too long.  They have murdered Robert Baratheon.  They have poisoned Jon Arryn.  They took the head of the most honorable man I have ever known, my Father Eddard Stark." Robb had to stop, as some of the men grew angry at his words.  "The Lannisters threw my little brother, Brandon Stark, off of a tower because he was witness to the incest of the Kingslayer and the Queen, and now the fruit that was born from their lust sits on the Iron Throne and _he_ would have you _submit_. What say you to that?" Again, the men were frenzied and banged spears against their shields.  "Now these Lannisters invade your lands, burn your crops, and rape your wives and daughters.  It is time to say enough.  It is time that we say no more!  And we will tell them, and they will forever know our names!  Ride with me now!  Ride and we will make sure they never forget us!"  Robb turned his horse and took off in the direction that his infantry had already traveled.  The ground shook behind him as the hooves of thousands of horses trampled into the dirt, and he could hear the shouts of _King of the North_ following behind him, loud and clear.  He was riding hard, but was still able to see the grey blur out of the corner of his eye, as his direwolf followed in the distance, never too far away from his master.

        "A good speech Your Grace," the Blackfish called as he guided his horse to Robb's right side. "I was in tears," he joked.

         Robb offered a grin in return.  "As long as it is the Lannisters who are crying in the end."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx 

     The emotional high of starting off on a new campaign lessened significantly as they got further and further away from Riverrun.  The men who Tywin Lannister had sent to harry those who lived in the Riverlands had done their job.  They passed farmland that was either scorched or still burning. Homes were and building were torn apart. Worst of all were the corpses littered everywhere, left rotting without a shred of dignity. The sight of small children bearing large slashes from the swing of a sword, or with an arrow through their belly was almost too much for Robb to bear.  This was the price that innocent people paid when men went to war.

      Until midday the weather had been pleasant, but then a light, lingering rain had started blowing against them.  The pace of the men he lead became slower as horses were forced to work harder to move in the muddy ground.  They were slowed, but it did not take long until the first signs of the supply caravan were seen in the distance.  His infantry were marching in a long column, with four or five man standing side by side to each other. Riding on horseback at the end of the supply caravan were twenty men who served as the rear guard. One of those men, a Bolton man by the looks of it, was the first to notice that the King approached, and spun his horse and stopped, allowing Robb to catch up.

        "Any news?" Robb asked as he pulled to the man's side. Now that he was closer he confirmed the man was a Bolton.  The surcoat that he wore over his armor bore the flayed man across the chest.

       "Nothing of concern Your Grace," the man answered with a graveled voice. "We passed a few peasants who were leaving the fighting, but they were heading north, not south."

       "No sign of the Mountain?"

       "None Your Grace."

       "I am heading to the front, but I will leave men to reinforce you."

        Robb ordered fifty more men to stay on rearguard, and then hastened his pace toward the front of the column.  Many of the men shouted to him as he made his way passed, and he did his best to acknowledge the men who had left their homes to fight for him. Roose Bolton was on horse towards the middle of the column, where the majority of his men were marching. Robb stopped briefly to speak with him, then resumed his journey.  He heard when he approached the head of the column more than saw it. The Greatjon's booming voice traveled far, and he could see the burly man gesturing wildly to the man next to him.

      "Ah look who has decided to join us," the Greatjon called to him as he made it closer.

      "Lord Umber, no problems here?" Robb asked.

      "None, a boring march Your Grace."

      "I would not worry Lord Umber, we will be smashing against Lannister shields at the Tooth soon enough."

       The army marched for another hour before Robb decided to call for a halt. His legs needed a break from the horse, and he was sure his heavily armored men could use one since they had set out before him.  Robb rested his back against a tree that was one of a sparse few that rose out of the ground where they had stopped.  He took a jug of water from Olyvar and drank deeply, refreshed as the moisture hit his parched throat. Realizing that he should stretch his legs, and not stand in one spot, he moved a few paces away. They were situated at the top of slope that looked over into a grassy valley, and Robb took time examine his surroundings.  They were still too far away to catch a glimpse of Wayfarer's Rest, but something else in the distance caught Robb's eye. 

       Rain was still falling, so he thought it was just a trick of the weather, but then the small object seemed to be moving closer.  It came nearer and nearer, until Robb was finally able to make out the shape and see a mounted rider.

      "Rider incoming!" Robb shouted to the men beside him, who subsequently spread the word down the line.  "Archers to me."

       Robb pulled his shield from where it was strapped to his horse and drew his shield from the sheath.  Ten men armed with longbows stood beside him while the men in back formed lines. The arches pulled arrows and stood ready to fire, but Robb would not give the order until he was sure there was a threat. One thing he could tell by the distance the rider was covering, was that he was pushing the horse as hard as it could go.  That itself gave Robb reason to pause, because it likely meant the man was trying to move away from something.

       "We should take it down Your Grace," Rickard Karstark advised from beside him.

       "Not yet," Robb disagreed.  "I won't kill an innocent man, especially one who may have information for us."  The man was finally in range of the archers, but still Robb stayed quiet.  Finally, Robb was able to get good look at the man. He was dirty and bloody, but he wore no Lord's sigil, no armor, and was free of any weapon. "Stand down," he ordered to the bowmen at his side."  Robb stepped forward, ahead of his men, but his squire stood guard at his back. He rested the blade of his sword against his soldier, but kept his arm secured through the grips in his shield.

        The horseman rode straight at them, slowing as he met the wall of soldiers. A closer look allowed Robb to see a man with long brown hair and short beard.  His thin shirt was torn at the shoulder, blood seeping out of an obvious wound.  The man came to a stop ten paces away, he and his horse both breathing hard.

       "Speak your name," Robb called to the man.

       "My name...is Allor... my Lord," the man struggled to get out.

        "You speak to the King of the North, show the proper respect," Olyvar corrected from behind Robb.

       The man hastily slid from his horse, as fast as his injury allowed, and fell to a knee. "My apologies Your Grace."

       "None are required," Robb assured.

        "I truly speak to King Robb Stark?" Allor questioned, hope in his eyes.

         "You do."

         "Then the Gods have truly blessed me, to have guided me to your presence."

         "Why do you say so?" Robb inquired, confused.

          "I am a stone mason employed at Wayfarer's Rest, Your Grace. Men are attacking the castle and have breached the walls.  I just managed to escape, to try and rally help Your Grace, and here I hope I have found it."

          "Is it Lannisters?"

           "They do not wear Lannister colors, Your Grace.  There are three, maybe four hundred, and they are led by the beast called the Mountain."

           Robb instantly turned from Allor, and faced Lord Karyl Vance, Lord of Wayfarer's Rest, who had ridden with his guard.  "How many men are guarding your Castle, Lord Vance?"

          "I've only left fifty of my household guard, Your Grace," the man answered fearfully.  "My daughters are there, and the village outside the walls will have been without protection."

        Greatjon Umber, Lord Karstark, the Blackfish, and Lord Mallister came closer to Robb.  "What are your orders Your Grace?" Lord Umber spoke.

        Robb did not even take the time to think.  "Lord Umber, I leave you in charge of the infantry.  Make haste to Wayfarer's.  I will lead half of the horsemen ahead and confront the Mountain and hopefully put an end to him for good.  We can not let him leave or he will continue his raiding."

       "Yes, Your Grace, may the Gods give you strength," the Greatjon responded, already turning to put Robb's orders into motion.

        Robb quickly mounted his horse, and was soon surrounded by his guard, including Smalljon Umber, Dacey Mormont, Wendel Manderly, and Robin Flint. Lord Vance was on a horse next to Robb, looking ready to ride off immediately.  "Which is the best way to converge on your home Lord Vance?" Robb asked

         "The Castle faces north Your Grace.  I'd suggest riding close to the mountains to the north to disguise our advance."

         Robb nodded.  "We will stay north and then we will split our forces into two.  You will lead your men to the castle and to your keep and drive the invaders out.  I will take my men through the village and circle around the rear of the Castle to cut off the stragglers."  Lord Vance nodded his agreement and pulled down the visor on his helm, riding back to inform the men of the plan.  Robb was finished talking, and ready for a fight.  He forced his horse forward and began riding, that being signal enough for his men to follow.

          It was not long before the mountains that lay north of Wayfarer's Rest came into sight, and Robb shifted his direction so that he was closer to them. The rest of his riders followed his lead. They rode hard along the base of the mountains until Robb could see the first signs of smoke and the outline of their destination in the distance.  He signaled a sharp turn and gave the signal to Lord Vance to commence the split of forces.  Robb and his guard veered off to left, while Vance went right.  The village outside of Wayfarer's was situated to the left of the Castle, while it wasn't large, there were many structures built tightly together, and many were in the process of burning.  As Robb rode, he passed bodies of those who had been shot down with crossbow bolts as they tried to make an escape, while others had been hacked to death.

       The Mountain's men were still in the village, and it did not take long for them to realize that they were under imminent threat.  About one hundred and fifty men formed a wall, and they smartly used the village as means of defense.  The roads in the village were so thin, that Robb would have to funnel his men through, a handful at a time, which would leave them vulnerable to being picked off. It would be a mistake and he knew it. It would be easier to maneuver on foot. Robb held his hand up and brought his horse to a fierce stop.  He looked right for a moment and saw that Lord Vance had already made it through the outer walls of the castle, before sliding off of his horse and grabbing his shield and sword.  The Blackfish was at his side in a moment, as were his guard, all ready for battle.

          "Take half the men and flank them on the left and from behind through the village," Robb instructed the Blackfish.  "I will lead the attack up the center." The Blackfish nodded and moved back to gather his men.  Robb turned to his guard.  "Attack them with everything you have.  Give them the justice they deserve.  With me!" Robb roared and took off, trying to keep pace with the Blackfish who moved unbelievably well for someone of his age. Something buzzed by his ear, and he realized that they were being fired on with crossbows.  He raised his shield to protect his head. More bolts flew through the air, some impacting shields, other digging deeply into flesh. To his left he saw Grey Wind running strong ahead of him and disappear into the village, ready to cause carnage

       As soon as Robb crossed the threshold into the city, his guard was pushed tightly together, but they moved as one and rammed their shields into their enemies, shoving them back.  The man who Robb had hit lost his balance completely, dropping his guard, and giving Robb the opening he needed.  Robb gripped his sword tightly and slashed down strongly.  The strike sliced through his opponent's leather armor like it was not there and tore and giant gash from shoulder to waist.  The man fell, never to rise again.  There was no time to admire his work though, because another man came and filled the gap.  The Mountain's soldier went on the attack, slicing down, but Robb blocked with his shield and countered. Swords met between them, locked together, so Robb raised his right boot and smashed into his opponent's knee. The blow forced the man to kneel, and Robb used the pommel of his sword to smash into his opponents face. Robb finished him with a cut across the neck.

        Robb took down two more soldiers before he saw the Blackfish and his men had successfully overtaken the enemy flank and were causing havoc. Robb and his guard pushed the remaining enemy straight to the Blackfish who dispatched them quickly, until the remaining few laid down their arms.  Grey Wind appeared out of nowhere, blood coating his mouth and paws, and Robb rubbed a hand over his head.  A quick check on his guard revealed only minor injuries, but he had lost five other soldiers as well. He ordered some of his men to secure their prisoners and work on putting out the fires.  Meanwhile, Robb and his guard, along with the Blackfish, made their way to the Castle. 

      The walls of Wayfarer's Rest were not large at all, and were only protected by four short towers.  Its main attributes were the giant keep, and the craftsmen’s' buildings that surrounded it. The men that Lord Vance had left at the Rest had fought valiantly, but the Mountain had eventually torn through them all.  When Robb walked through the outer gate, he could see that Lord Vance had retaken control...for the most part.  Standing in the middle of the square, surrounded by Robb's soldiers was the Mountain. Though the giant's men were around him dead or dying, he looked anything but defeated.  He stood tall, over a head taller than anyone around him, great sword in hand, shouting taunts at those who were too fearful to approach him.

        Lord Vance approached Robb as he saw him enter.  "The Castle is secure Your Grace."

       "Do your daughters live?"  Robb asked, remembering the man's concern from earlier.

       "They do, thank you Your Grace.  They were not able to infiltrate the keep.  What shall we do with him?" Vance directed Robb's attention back to the still seething lapdog of Tywin Lannister.

       "I think I will go find out."  Robb walked closer, which focused the Mountain's attention on him.

         "And who the fuck are you?" Gregor Clegane growled.

         Though the man was honestly one of the most terrifying sights Robb had ever seen, he took another step closer.  "My name is Robb Stark.  I am the King of the North."  Robb's men shouted _King of the North_ loudly around him.

         Clegane laughed wildly.  " _You_ , are a King? I see no King, just a little shit who should run back home before he suffers the same fate as his traitor Father."

         Robb did not flinch.  "I would like to see how much you laugh when I lock you in a dungeon next to the Kingslayer. The problem for you is that, unlike the Kingslayer, no one will care much if you rot there for the rest of your life." Robb informed him.

        "That is where you are wrong little boy.  I have no intention of being a prisoner.  I will cut down every man who tries to put me in chains. Look how your soldiers back away in fright.  None of you have the stomach to fight me man to man!"

         "I'll fight you."  Robb turned to look who spoke and saw the Blackfish step forward, face and body showing nothing but confidence.  "If the King permits."  Brynden Tully looked at Robb in question, and Robb could not refuse.  He would not show such lack of trust in front of all of his men. That did not mean he was not worried. This man was his family, and no matter his reputation, he was not as young as he once was.  The Blackfish moved in front of his target, causing the Mountain to chuckle again.

         "You send an old man to fight _me_?" Clegane asked.  "At least this will be quick.  Watch this, King of the North, and I will show you how I gut a Blackfish."

         "Come Clegane, and _I_ will show you how to make a Mountain fall to the earth," Brynden Tully boasted. The words had barely left the Blackfish before Clegane attacked with a fearsome swing of his sword. The Blackfish deftly moved away from the errant slash, and moved behind his foe.  The Mountain swung blindly behind him, and the swords length forced the Blackfish to bend back.  As the great sword passed, Brynden Tully lunged, trying to catch Clegane off balance, but the giant moved faster than one his size should and turned to his side at the last moment.

       The two fighters stepped back and circled one another, trying to anticipate the other's next move.  What happened next, would be something Robb would never forget.  The Blackfish stood straight, no longer in a fighting stance, and at the same time lowered his shield and sword to their respective sides, leaving his middle completely open.  The Mountain was set on finishing the fight quickly, so he gripped his sword with both hands and move forward, intent on impaling the Blackfish.  Brynden Tully waited for the last second possible and raised his shield just in time.  However, the force of Clegane's momentum thrust his sword straight through the shield, and the tip came through and stuck in the Blackfish's shoulder.

        Robb watched, worried, as his Mother's Uncle grimaced in pain and blood began running, but instead of backing away, the Blackfish used all of his power, to rotate his shield. The Mountain's sword and hand were twisted over, and he immediately knew that he had no means of defending himself. Gregor Clegance's left hand left his sword, raising it to try and block the Blackfish's sword, which was already moving quickly towards him.  It was too late though.  The tip of Brynden Tully's sword went straight through Clegane's hand and continued on until in was buried in his eye and into his skull.  Dark blood poured thickly down his face, along with what was left of his eye. The sword fell from his remaining hand, and he dropped to his knees.

           Brynden Tully eyed his opponent grimly.  He dropped his own shield, gripped his sword with both hands, and pulled. Blood squirted through the hole in Gregor Clegane's head as the sword was removed, and Robb and all his men watched the Mountain fall. 

       

      

       

 

       

     

     

 


	4. Chapter 4

       The mood in the Great Hall of Wayfarer's rest was somber, even though that day the army had won a minor victory, and the terror that was Gregor Clegane was dead. The Mountain had slaughtered half of the surrounding village, and all of Lord Vance's guard before Robb and his men had put a stop to it.   He sat with just a few of his Lords at the high table, while the others outside the walls oversaw the building of the war camp and burial of those who had fallen. In total, Robb had lost twenty men in the attack, with a slew of other injuries, and he mourned for them all, as if they were all an extension of his family.  The light-fare that had been prepared for the meal, sat only half-consumed in front of him.  His eyes lingered around the walls of the hall, lost in the tapestries depicting various natural features of the surrounding lands, when a soft voice broke his concentration.

       "Excuse my interruption Your Grace."  There in front of him was a tall, young woman with fair hair pulled back into a simple braid.  Her dress bore the gold and black colors of House Vance.  "I am Liane Vance Your Grace, eldest daughter of the Lord of Wayfarer's Rest."

       "An honor to meet you my lady," Robb stated politely.

        "Thank you, Your Grace," she replied, falling down into a curtsey. "On behalf of my sisters and all of my people, I would like to express our gratitude for coming to our aide."

         "Your Father is a loyal man, and a great asset to our cause," Robb assured. "I am only sorry that we did not arrive sooner."

         "You are the _only_ King, who has shown any concern for the plight on our lands Your Grace.  We are just grateful that not all was lost." Robb bowed his head to her, and expected her to step away, but she remained in place.

        "Was there something else my lady?"

        "Yes Your Grace.  My Father requested that I offer you the use of his chambers during your stay at Wayfarer's Rest. They are yours if you wish it," she declared.

         "I do greatly appreciate the gesture my lady," Robb said, offering a small smile. "However, your Father will have enough work putting things to rights here, that it would bad form if I was to displace him in his own home."

         "Are you certain, Your Grace?"

          "I am, my lady.  I will be more than comfortable camped with my men.  But give your Father my thanks if you are in his presence before I."

          Liane offered him another curtsey.  "I will Your Grace."  With that she turned and left the hall, leaving Robb alone once again. He took a drink from his cup of wine then stood up, the people in the hall all standing with him in unison. He quickly waved them back down to continue their meals, before heading for the exit.  Two members of his household guard followed him out of the hall, and then out of the keep.  Some of the laborers were still in the process of removing debris and bodies, but they all offered him a bow as he passed through the square and eventually through the Castle gates.

        The city of tents that greeted him was most impressive, as it curved around the exterior of the Castle as far as he could see.  His tent was the largest, and it was situated close to the castle and surrounded on all sides for greater protection.  Robb advanced to the tent and pulled open the flap, leaving the guards posted outside.  Olyvar was still inside, finishing sorting his notes and maps out onto a wooden table. The squire bowed his head to Robb, and placed a lit candle down that he had been using for light.

        "I have finished unpacking Your Grace," Olyvar noted.

         "Good work," Robb responded, taking a seat on his camp bed, which was laid out, covered with furs.  "How is the Blackfish?"

         "He is resting Your Grace.  Lord Vance's maester cleaned and stitched his wound, then gave him something for the pain. His tent is next to yours if you wish to see him."

         "I will not disturb him tonight.  He must heal, as we will only be able to stay stationary for a short time. No doubt, scouts from the Tooth will have knowledge of our presence in a day or two and will call for more reinforcements. Pour me a cup of wine, Olyvar," Robb requested as he removed his boots, which were still caked with blood and dirt.  By the time they were off, Olyvar was in front of him extending a cup.  "Pour one for yourself as well and take a seat."

        The squire looked at him questioningly, but retrieved a cup for himself and grabbed a chair.  "Is their something you need Your Grace?"

        "Nothing to concern yourself over," Robb assured him. "I just wished to talk, learn more about you.  You wish to be a knight?"

         "I do Your Grace," Olyvar replied eagerly.  "It is something I've long aspired to."

         "Why is that?  For the prestige? Knighthood is a different thing in the north."

          Olyvar shrugged.  "That _is_ part of it Your Grace. It is hard to feel of any importance when your father has dozens of other children and you are only his eighteenth trueborn son.  I'd like to travel the Seven Kingdom, fight in tourneys like my eldest full brother."

         "Ser Perwyn correct?" Robb asked.  Olyvar nodded.  "He's a good fighter. You have other siblings?"

         "My brother Benfrey is still at the Twins.  He grovels at the feet of my Father for his affection, so that is not a surprise.  Then my other brother Willlamen is a maester."

         "Any sisters by chance?" Robb inquired, more curious.

          "Yes Your Grace, Roslin.  She is my Mother's youngest, two years younger than I."

         "Maybe she and I will marry, and you I will be brothers, Olyvar," Robb speculated, trying to put some enthusiasm in his voice for his squire's sake.

         "My Sister is very lovely Your Grace, though I do not know how eager she would be to be a queen.  Still, it would be a great honor if you were to choose her."

          "I value your opinion.  There is a war to win before any of that will matter though."

          Olyvar nodded his head then looked away.  Robb could tell that something was bothering him, but he was reluctant to say whatever it was.  "You can speak your mind here.  I will not judge you."

        "I am loyal to you Your Grace."

        "But..." Robb started expectantly.

         "But I do not know how far that loyalty goes for the others who bear my name. What my Father did to you at the Twins is a great shame on our house.  To hold the daughter and grandson of his liege Lord ransom to cross a bridge is one of the most dishonorable things that may Father has done."

        "If you are looking for me to disagree, I won't," Robb admitted.

        "I just want to warn you Your Grace.  My Father is not a good man.  He would sell his children if he thought there was a profit to be made from it. The only person he is loyal to is himself and his need to fuck young girls."

        "Why do you say this now?"

         "We are going to march on Casterly Rock, Your Grace.  My Father has promised you a bride to join our houses in the future, but there are real connections that _already_ exist between Frey and Lannister.  My half brother Emmon is married to Tywin Lannister's own sister."

         "You think he will break his oath?" Robb asked leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped tightly.

          "I think a new oath may be bought by a higher offer," Olyvar suggested. "I do not know it for certain Your Grace, but I would not feel right if I kept my silence on the matter."

         Robb stood from his bed, which prompted Olyvar to follow.  Robb held out his hand and grasped his squire's tightly. "You have my thanks for this information Olyvar.  I know it must not be easy to implicate your own kin.  What of Lord Frey's heir, Stevron.  He has never struck me as foolish."

       "Stevron is a decent man, but he is also already an _old_ man.  There are others who would plot to supplant him as heir if they could.  That includes his own son," Olyvar explained.

        Robb sighed. "I cannot do anything about this, but be vigilant I'm afraid.  You've shown great courage to bring me your concerns, but I must ask one more thing of you."

       "Anything Your Grace," Olyvar agreed instantly, bowing his head respectfully.

        "I need you to keep abreast of what goes on with your kin. When you are not serving me, you are to be with them.  Keep an ear open for anything you find to be suspicious and report it back to me."

        "I will, Your Grace."

        "Good," Robb replied, tapping him on the shoulder. "Continue on as you have, and you will be a knight in no time Olyvar.  Go to your tent and rest.  We are going scouting on the morrow."

         "Thank you, Your Grace."  Olyvar turned to exit the tent, but jumped when he was met with the sight of Grey Wind who had managed to sneak through without their notice.

        "To me," Robb called to him, and the direwolf slid past the startled squire and rested his head on Robb's lap.  "I see you've been on the hunt." Grey Wind's muzzle was specked with dots of fresh blood.  "Rabbits and deer may be good for now, but you'll have Lannisters to hunt soon enough."

 

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      The first thing that Robb did the next morning when he awoke was to visit his Great-Uncle. He had expected the man to still be laid up in his bed, but when he arrived, he was just strapping on his sword as if he had not suffered an injury at all.

       "I thought for certain that you fought Gregor Clegane yesterday and were wounded Uncle."

         The Blackfish turned to see his visitor.  "Just a scratch Your Grace.  I've had worse in the practice yard.  The damn maester forced some concoction down my throat before I had a chance to protest, next thing I knew I was on the floor."

        "Are you sure you are fit to ride?"

        "I took a sword to the shoulder, not the ass Your Grace."

        Robb just grinned at the man, who was one of the toughest he knew. "You know you'll be a legend now. I'm sure I heard a song being sung by the men last night about it."

         "I'll gut the man who sings it in my presence."

          Robb led them through the tent and back into the square inside Wayfarer's Rest. There, most of his Lord's were gathered, awaiting his presence.  "My Lords," Robb nodded his head as they bowed. "We ride for the Tooth to get an idea of what we face in the coming days.  I'd ask those with knowledge of the area to give their opinions on our next course of action."

        "Before we look to the Tooth Your Grace, I would suggest we consider securing our position as of now," Lord Piper spoke up.  "We know from other reports that Gregor Clegane's forces were larger than we faced yesterday.  There were also some men who made it safely from the battle who are going to carry the word south.  I believe our first duty should be to secure the river crossings at the Mummer's Ford and Stone Mill. We should not be surprised by other raiding parties."

        "I concur with Lord Piper Your Grace," Lord Vance called. "Archers to impede those looking to cross, and riders to bring word of incoming danger would be best."

        "Alright, see that's it done," Robb ordered.  "Lord Piper, I'll leave that task to you as your lands are closest to the crossings."

         "Right away Your Grace," the short, heavy Lord bowed, leaving to see to his task.

          "If I may, Your Grace," Ser Marq Piper broke in.  "With my Father seeing to the fords, I'd request to accompany your advance party to the Tooth.  I've been through the pass more times that I can count."

         "Of course," Robb nodded, glad for the help.  "I want ten riders at the most.  We don't want to attract any more attention to ourselves if we can help it.  Assuming we _are_ followed back, I want men armed and in place protecting the western side of the camp."

           "There is a gently sloping piece of land on the left side of the pass that will give a good vantage point without exposing us Your Grace," Ser Marq assured.

          "Good.  Lords Umber and Karstark, the camp is yours.  Lords, Glover, Bolton, and Mallister.  You'll accompany myself, the Blackfish, Ser Marq, my squire, and two more of my guard. We leave now."

 

 

    

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      The rain had tapered off in the night, but the chill in the air had remained as strong as ever.  They rode hard and fast, staying off of the River Road and close to the mountains that towered majestically over the pass.  It did not take long before the stronghold that was the Golden Tooth came into sight. Robb took one glance at the fortress and his level of concern for the impending siege increased dramatically.

      The fortress was not especially high, but it was fully built into the mountains, spanning the entire pass.  Anyone who wanted a direct route from the Riverlands to the Westerlands had to do it by entering the gate and coming through the other side.  There were two guard towers at each end, and another situated over the main gate.  Archers roamed along the wall keeping watch.  The keep and other structure stood out in the middle of the fortress, and Robb could see tents constructed beyond, where the Lannisters had brought reinforcements.

       Robb and his men tied their horses off, and walked to elevated spot that Marq Piper had described.

      "We must draw them out," Lord Glover insisted.  "We may be victorious if we scale the walls, but our number will be thinned considerably in the process."

      "I agree," Lord Bolton offered.  "By the time we reached Casterly Rock, we would only have half our force at best.  That is not enough, even if the Greyjoys agree to an alliance."

       "They know that as well as us, my Lords," Robb assured. "They neutralize our cavalry by staying inside their walls."

       "It's not too late to take the southern pass, Your Grace," Lord Mallister added. "We could circle around the mountains to the Gold Road and then march against Casterly Rock head on."

       "I will not turn back," Robb countered decisively.  "We would have to risk crossing the entire army at the Mummer's Ford, then deal with forces from Hornvale and the Deep Den. All of that would be just to get _onto_ the Gold Road."

       "I agree with the King," the Blackfish declared.  "We need to break the Lannisters here.   It would give us control of access into the Westerlands."

       "The only question is how to do it," Robb continued, taking a knee and looking out over the pass.  "We need something that will stir them, no matter how much they intend to keep still."

       "Burn them Your Grace," Lord Bolton suggested, darkly. "Use fire to move them."

       "It is an idea, but won't the men in the Tooth just retreat back into the camp, until the fire is settled?" Robb countered.

       "Your Grace," Marq Piper interrupted.  "There may be other means of attacking, then straight from the front."

        "In what way?" Robb inquired, looking back at the heir to Pinkmaiden.

        Ser Marq pointed to the mountains surrounding the fortress. "The Tooth has the majority of the Lannister gold mines, Your Grace.  There may be abandoned mines or structures that could be of an advantage to us, if we are willing to expend the time to look for them. At the least there may be a means of finding higher ground from which to engage."

       "I think this idea is worth exploring Your Grace," Lord Bolton stated. "We have time until there is word on whether Tywin Lannister is going to move from Harrenhall. It would be best to take advantage of it."

        Robb turned his head away from his men in thought.  They needed something that would give them the edge in this fight. He wanted to move quickly, but he would not do it at the expense of his men.  His Mother had told him to use his head, and this is what he would do. He pushed off of the ground, back to standing.  "Ser Marq and Olyvar will go with me to try and find away around the Tooth. I want the rest of you to wait here, keep an eye on troop movement, and guard the horses."

       "Your Grace, may I suggest you stay here and allow me to go in your stead. We have no idea the peril that may lie up there," Lord Glover reasoned.  "It wouldn't do to lose the King on a scouting mission."

       Robb shook his head.  "I won't commit to any plan unless I can see the basis of it for myself."

      "He's just afraid us seasoned folk will slow him down," the Blackfish quipped good-naturedly.  "Just make sure you let your squire walk in front of you.  If he falls off, there are plenty of other Freys to fill his position."

       Robb actually managed to laugh at that, and clapped Olyvar on the shoulder to let him know it was just in jest.  He was glad to see his squire was able to take it with a smile and shake of his head.

      "We won't be long," Robb insisted.  He gestured to the two who would be accompanying him "Leave your cloaks. You don't want them to get caught on something they shouldn't."

       Robb allowed Marq Piper to lead them closer down the side of the forested pass until they were able to discover an accessible spot to climb further up. Their path was steep, and required them to find proper footing on each step.  Luckily, there were trees and other vegetation that could be used as a grip, and also serve as cover.  The route they followed twisted and turned up the face of the mountain, and they were forced to make marks in the ground to remember which way they started from.

       The particular mountain they traveled on was bigger than others around it. They were not even a quarter of the way up when Robb noticed a ridge that was off of the particular path they walked. "This way," he called to Marq and Olyvar, whose breathing was already becoming labored by the hike. Robb pulled himself up onto the ridge and got his first good look down into the pass.  While his position afforded him glimpses of the defenses and the war camp, there was no practical use for it.  It was too high, and too far away to launch an attack. They would have to keep walking.

        "Do you smell that?"  Robb looked back and saw Olyvar standing alert, with a perplexed look on his face.

        "What is it?" Robb questioned.

         "Smoke."

         Robb inhaled deeply, and sure enough, his nose tingled from a burning smell in the air. "We're too far from the Tooth to smell smoke from there," Robb observed.

        "Then we are not alone up here," Marq Piper whispered as he drew his sword, prompting Robb and Olyvar to do the same."

         "Are there mountain tribes up here?" Olyvar wondered out loud, gripping tightly to his sword and searching around him for a potential opponent.

        "Likely," Marq Piper commented, sticking close to Robb's back.

         "The smell is coming from down the ridge," Robb noted, as he started moving further down it.  He knew it was probably unwise, but his sense of curiosity won out over caution. They moved tightly together, Robb leading and Olyvar guarding their rear.  Further they went, and stronger the smell of fire became.  Finally Robb was able to see the outline of a cave in the distance. There were barrels and empty bottles littered in front of its mouth, but Robb could hear no noise. The smell of smoke was strongest yet, but he could see no sign of it, meaning it may have recently been extinguished. They inched closer and closwer until they were standing in the entrance, their backs to the edge of the ridge, looking into absolute darkness.

      "Should we go in further?" Olyvar asked, tentatively.

      "I don't think you'll be going any further."

      Robb had not spoken and the deep voice did not belong to Marq Piper.  He made quickly to turn, but before he had the chance to do so, a hand gripped his sword arm, and cold, hard steel dug into his neck beneath his chin.

 

        

      

        

     

      

     

 

                      

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

       "Drop your swords, and no blood be shed," the voice from behind Robb exclaimed. Robb glanced right and left, seeing both Olyvar and Ser Marq with swords waiting to spill blood from their necks.

       A second later the sound of his sword clanging on the ground came, which was followed by two more in quick succession.  "We've done as you asked, now kindly let us go."  He was surprised when those who had them at their mercy actually complied.  Robb quickly checked to see if they had nicked his skin, then turned around.  There were ten men standing there.  Some of them looked highborn, but they all looked like they had seen better days.  The man who had held him was an older man, almost bald and wearing dinged armor over red robes.

       "Your name boy," the man ordered, not lowering his sword. Robb did not know what to answer, seeing as revealing his self to be a king would likely be of small benefit to him. However, another man standing in the back took the choice away from him.

       "Is that you milord?"  The man who spoke stepped from the back, sword back in his belt, with a look of astonishment on his face.  Only when the man got close could he see through the man's beard to his facial features, and suddenly Robb was filled with thoughts of home.

       "Harwin?" Robb asked, needing to know if this man was the guardsman who had followed his Father south.

       "Aye, it is milord," Harwin answered bowing his head.

       "Harwin, you know this man?" the man in red robes interrupted.

        Harwin looked back and nodded his head.  "Thoros, this is Robb Stark, son of Eddard Stark, and Lord of Winterfell."

         "King now, actually," Robb interjected, trying to stand taller. "And I know only one man named Thoros, meaning you must be Thoros of Myr."

         "You would be correct," Thoros stated, now comfortable enough to put away his own sword.  "Now that I look harder, I think I do see a little bit of your Father in you. He was a good man, and did not deserve his fate."

         "No he didn't, and I mean to see that the Lannisters meet justice for it," Robb assured.  "You'll have to excuse my question, but what are you all doing in a cave, on a mountain in the Westerlands?"

       "Living...for the most part," a different man answered this time.  This man was much younger than Thoros, thinner and with reddish hair to his shoulders. On his armor were two bolts of lightning.  Robb's mind instantly started running through Houses and sigils, but the man stopped him. "I am Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven.  Your Lord Father tasked me with leading these men to track down Gregor Clegane and bring him to answer for his raiding of the Riverlands."

       "Ten men to stop the Mountain?"

        "There were considerably more of us when we set out," Thoros commented. "Clegane and the Lannisters routed us at the Mummer's Ford, but we were able to escape."

         "You will be pleased then to know Clegane is dead," Marq Piper told them. "Just yesterday."

         "How did this come to pass?" Dondarrion questioned, surprise on his face.

         "I've gathered an army of Northerners and River Lords to march into Westerlands. On our journey from Riverrun we happened on a raid of Wayfarer's Rest where we meant to make camp, and put the raiders to the sword," Robb elaborated.

         "And who was the one that fell the Mountain?" Thoros asked.

        "My Great Uncle, Brynden Tully."

         "You convinced the Blackfish to leave the Eyrie and go to Riverrun?" Thoros probed.  "I did not think he and Hoster Tully would ever be in the same place ever again."

        "My Grandfather's health is failing," Robb explained.

         "That is most unfortunate," Thoros noted, walking over and taking a seat against a barrel.  "He was a good man."

         "If I may ask, what are you doing on a mountain in the Westerlands?" Robb asked, as he picked up his sword from where it dropped to the ground.

         "We've taken to harassing Lannisters for the most part," Thoros answered. "We attack their supply routes, and then try to avoid the Mountain as best we can.  Sometimes the inns aren't safe, so sometimes we end up in cave."

         "And who do you fight for now?" Robb pressed.  "I'm not sure if the news has reached you here, but Renly Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, and Joffrey all have laid claim to the Iron Throne."

        "And you don't?" Dondarrion questioned doubtfully.

        Robb shook his head.  "I have no interest in sitting on a southern throne.  I lay claim to the North and the Riverlands, only because my men have voiced their support for it.  However, if Joffrey does not return my sisters, then I will march on King's Landing and I will take them back, along with his golden fucking head," Robb finished vehemently.

       "While I have no deep love for any of these prospective kings, what is to stop us from tying you up and delivering you to one of them?  There would be a fair bit of gold in it for us," Thoros pointed out.

          "Because I am the only King who gives a damn about the people.   From what I have heard of them, Renly is busy feasting himself to honor battles that he has yet to win, Stannis is willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to get what he wants, and Joffrey is the Mad King masquerading as a Lannister!"  Robb calmed himself before continuing with a warning. "Winter is coming, one worse than has ever been seen, and would you rather leave the realm in the hands of Southerners, or North men who have braved the cold their entire lives."

        "I place my faith in the Lord of Light to see me through the winter," Thoros stated.  "As does Beric, now."

        "I have felt that power myself," Lord Dondarrion said. Robb noted that the others looked to be affected by his words, but Robb had no idea why.

        "I worship the Old Gods, some of my men worship the Seven, it makes no difference to me," Robb lectured.  "Though if the things we have heard from Dragonstone about a Priestess burning people alive in the name of your Red God are true, my opinion may sour."

        Thoros looked disturbed at his words.  "Not all worship in the same way.  Many would manipulate their faith for their own needs."

        "And I would never judge you for the actions of another," Robb assured the priest. "However, if that is not enough to convince you to join me, then at the least accompany us back to our camp. We have food and shelter to offer better than what lies in this cave."

          Thoros looked at Dondarrion and the two proceeded to have a silent conversation between them, before Dondarrion stiffly nodded his head. "We'll accompany you back to your camp, but we will be free to leave on our own accord after we're fed and watered.  I'll need your word, Your Grace."

          "My word as a Stark of Winterfell," Robb pledged.

           "That'll do for me," Thoros answered. "No one can question the word of a Stark."

          "The Queen and her spawn did, and I mean to make them regret it forever." Robb moved forward out of the mouth of the cave and pointed down the way they had come.  "Follow Ser Marq and my squire down the path and it will lead you to where my bannermen are waiting.  I mean to have a word with Harwin, and then we will follow."

         Harwin looked on at Robb nervously while the other mish mash of soldiers began their descent down the mountain.  Once the others were out of sight, the haggard solider, who still bore the Stark colors, stepped forward towards Robb and bent down on one knee.  "I must beg your forgiveness Your Grace.," Harwin stated solemnly, true shame on his face  "As soon as word of your Father's arrest reached me, I should have rode hard and fast for Winterfell.  I abandoned my post."

       Robb casually walked forward and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "Who was it that sent you with Lord Beric?"

       Harwin looked up hesitantly.  "Your Father, Your Grace."

      "Aye, my Father, Harwin.  You and the rest of the men you were with were carrying out my Father's last orders...the true King's last orders," Robb added.  "I see no shame in doing so and I see no reason to complain about you irritating the Lannisters."

       "Thank you, Your Grace."

        "And another thing," Robb began, "I intend to keep my word. What I told Dondarrion and Thoros applies just as equally to you.  If you would rather stay with them while my host marches west, I will not protest or order it otherwise."

        "Truly, Your Grace?" Harwin asked skeptically.

        "Truly," Robb nodded, before dropping his gaze to the older man.  "However, I may not order you to march with me, but that will not halt me from asking. I have known you since I was a small boy, you are a man of Winterfell, and you are a tie to my Father that I would rather not sever, if possible.  I ask you, not as a King, but as a fellow man of the North, to join my host. I would be honored if you took a place in my guard, as you did my Father's."

         Harwin looked at him, and for a second Robb thought the man would decline, but quick enough he was proven wrong.  "My own family has served yours for as long as I can remember Your Grace. My ancestors would never forgive me if I turned my back on the first Stark in generations to hold the title of King.  My sword is yours, Your Grace."

        Robb held out his hand and chuckled, "I had little doubt." Harwin gripped onto Robb's arm and the young King embraced him warmly.  "Come, let us get back to camp.  I've left my bannermen as horse minders."  Robb started walking out of the cave, but was stopped by Harwin's hand on his arm.  "What is it, man?"

      "There is something that I must tell you, Your Grace," Harwin whispered, looking severely disquieted.  "I saw something while I was with Thoros and Lord Beric that I am hardly capable of describing, let alone able to explain."

      Robb looked at the man and could tell that he was genuinely disturbed. "What did you see Harwin?"

      "I saw," Harwin started, his eyes glance around to make sure no one was within earshot, "Thoros bring Lord Beric back from the grip of death."

      "What?" Robb asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his tone.

       "I swear it to you, on the life of my family," Harwin promised, no doubting the conviction to his words.  "Beric was killed in battle, and Thoros healed him."

       "Are you certain that Lord Dondarrion was not just wounded?"

      "Not possible, Your Grace. No mere man could have survived the wound, yet Thoros said words to his God and Beric woke again. I've always known that trick that Thoros did with his flaming sword was just that, a trick, but this was more real than anything that I have ever seen.  You must believe me, Your Grace," Harwin implored.

       "I do," Robb assured quickly, though the words were thin. "I will think on what you have told me, you have my word.  I may speak to Thoros on it myself.  Thank you for informing me."

      "Of course, Your Grace."

      They began their descent down the mountain, not too far back from the rest who were in sight.  Robb's mind was in a state of disarray as he thought on Harwin's tale.   _A man rising from the dead, how is that possible?_   Robb was a man of the North, a Stark who followed the Old Gods, and nothing would shake his faith in them, but he was now uncertain about whether they were alone, whether this Red God walked among them.  _Worry about this later, the Lannisters are a more imminent threat,_ he told himself.

       By the time Robb and Harwin were back to their horses, Thoros and Lord Beric were greeting the other Lords like old friends, which was the case as most had fought in battle together in years gone by.  "You go to find a path in the mountains and you come back with the renowned Thoros of Myr, Your Grace," the Blackfish stated as Robb made his way back among them.

       "We were lucky it was _them_ that found us and not someone more inclined to see our heads removed from their places on our shoulders," Robb informed them as he approached his horse.

       "His Grace tells us that it was you who slayed the Mountain, Tully," Thoros exclaimed, impressed.  "I'm ashamed to admit that I would not have put coin down in your favor. No offense meant."

      "Last time I checked Thoros, you weren't a rich man," Brynden Tully responded, already sitting astride his mount.  "You obviously have little skill in picking winners, so I see no reason to be offended." 

       "I see you have not lost your quick wit in your older age," Thoros shot back.

            "Ha," the Blackfish laughed, "I'm still a green squire compared to you. Can you still lift your damn sword high enough to set it ablaze, or does someone have to hold it for you?"

            Robb just shook his head and mounted his steed, letting his Uncle's and Thoros' back and forth fade away.  They were forced to trot back to Wayfarer's Rest slowly because their new companions lacked their own horses.  Still, it gave Robb the opportunity to take in his surroundings in a way he had not since they arrived in the heat of battle.  He had spent his whole life in the North, and it felt like experiencing an entirely new world.  Even as he took in the natural beauty of the land, the reality of war did not escape his mind. At every different feature he passed, he made note of what could serve as a good defensive position, or the most advantageous point to launch an offensive.  He knew that the knowledge could be helpful if the Tywin Lannister attacked them from the rear, or the soldiers from the Tooth came out to meet him head on.

          His tired limbs felt relief when the camp came into view, and he headed in the direction of his tent.  His bannermen followed closely behind, and he turned to address them.  "Lord Vance," Robb called over the bustle of the camp. "Please prepare your hall with food for our new guests, as well as the rest of my Lords. We will have a council meeting afterwards."

          "Right away, Your Grace," Karyl Vance promised, as he turned his horse toward the keep.

          Robb proceeded to his tent, allowing Olyvar to take his horse away, while he changed to a fresh set of clothes.  His riding clothes were replaced with a Stark-grey tunic, which was a great deal more comfortable than the former.  He stepped out his tent and was surprised to see Harwin standing watch outside of his tent.

        "You should be in the hall getting something to eat," Robb told him from his spot directly outside the flap of his abode.

         "Just making up for lost time, Your Grace.  You need an experienced man guarding you, not one of these boys who haven't a hair on their face."

         "I won't argue with you Harwin.  You are the last of my Father's guard we know was not slaughtered by Joffrey, which means you rank above the rest of the men who I have brought from Winterfell."

        "I hope one day that my children will serve your heir as well, Your Grace," Harwin bowed his head.

         Robb laughed softly, "I require a wife first, Harwin."

         "As do I, Your Grace," Harwin grinned.

 

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        The food was elegant, more so than Robb was accustomed to.  It had a richness to it that was at time too much, and he longed for the simpler, heartier fare, that was prepared in the hearths of Winterfell's kitchens.  He was anything but rude though, so he ate his fill as he watched Thoros and his men engage in booming conversation.  The night wore on though, and Robb needed to bring things to order quickly. He stood from his place at the head of the giant table that had been formed for the meal, and eventually the conversations ended.  He retook his seat when he knew everyone's attention was focused.

       "My Lords, I will not soften my words.  The Tooth is an obstacle, and a substantial one at that, but if we mean to bring down Casterly Rock it must be overtaken.  We set out today to find a way around, but instead crossed paths with our friends who have joined us for this meal.  They have been in this territory chasing after the Mountain, and if they would be so inclined, I would ask them for any information they could provide on the matter."

        All eyes turned to the newcomers, and it was Lord Dondarrion who spoke for them.   "The mountains are treacherous," he began.  "There is no direct route through them, from the area that we explored."

       "What about locations that would enable us to place archers above the Tooth?" Lord Bolton asked.

        "There are places that would be serviceable, but they would not allow for large groups, and would be too high for any sort of accuracy. The archers would be nuisances at best."

         "I am open to suggestions if you have them," Robb informed them. "I think it is safe to say, that all of us in this room have no love for the Lannisters. They have taken something from all of us.  For me it was my Father. For you it was Robert Baratheon, as I have little doubt they were involved in his death."

         "There is another way round, if you are foolish enough to try it," Thoros interjected.  "The Tumblestone runs parallel with the mountains north of the Golden Tooth."

           "The River runs inland too fast to travel west.  No vessel would make it in one piece," Ser Marq doubted.

           "No, not up the River," Thoros corrected.  "There is another path along the mountains, one that runs high above the water.  It is barely wide enough in some places to permit a single man to pass. Any man who does fall will meet his fate on jagged rock or in the depths of the Tumblestone."

            "But if someone were to make it through..." Robb began.

             "If someone _were_ to make it, then it would bring them out south of Ashemark and north of the Tooth, but more importantly _behind_ the Tooth."

              "And you have traveled this path before?" the Blackfish inquired.  "I have trouble believing someone with your girth could make it."

              "I wasn't always this fat."

              " _Uncle_ ," Robb warned, knowing this was not a time for jokes.

               "My apologies, Your Grace," Brynden Tully offered.

               "I know you do not consider me your king, and have sworn no oath to me, but I cannot help but ask what it would take you to lead some of my men down this path," Robb put forward. 

               "I am but a simple priest, Your Grace," Thoros said, joining his hands in front of him. "I try to live a life of simplicity, however my weakness for gold is a strong as the next man's I'm afraid."

               Robb was sure he heard his Uncle whisper something about a weakness for whores as well, but Robb thought it best to ignore the comment. "If you offer me your knowledge and your sword, the gold you desire is yours."

            "Then it sounds like a deal has been struck," Thoros noted, taking a gulp from his wine cup.  "Throw in a few more pieces of coin, and I'm sure you could talk my companions into joining me."

              "It's done," Robb instantly agreed, and Lord Dondarrion nodded his acquiescence.  "I don't mean for you take on the whole of the Lannister camp.  What I need is a distraction that will draw the attention from inside the fortress."

            "So chaos is what you want?" Thoros asked with a smirk.

              "Aye."

              "Then chaos you will have wolf King."

      

          

          

         

 

       


	6. Chapter 6

         "I had always envisioned that my return here would be a grand affair.  There would be feasting and celebrations to welcome home the heir to the Lordship over the Iron Islands," Theon drawled, miserably.

            "Then I would assume you are horribly disappointed Brother," the young woman who sat across from him replied, looking just as disheartened as he.

             Theon had arrived that morning, in the middle of a violent storm.  It shamed him to say it as an Iron Islander, but the troublesome sea had been havoc on his stomach.  He had walked onto shore at Pyke, expecting things to get better, but he was ever so wrong. Balon Greyjoy was dead. His Father was dead. He had fallen ill just mere days before Theon's arrival, and whatever affliction possessed him, it destroyed his body quickly.

           "This makes me a Lord now," Theon asserted.

             Asha Greyjoy pulled her head up and looked at him frostily.  "The fact that Balon Greyjoy is dead does not make you a Lord."

             "I'm his oldest son, his _heir_ ," Theon argued.

             "And I am him his oldest _child_.  You have been gone for _ten_ years Theon.  No one knows you; no one has any loyalty to you.  I command ships, something you have never done.  Can you imagine a Lord of the Iron Islands who has never even commanded a ship?" Asha asked incredulously.

           "Whose fault was that Sister?" Theon questioned harshly, crashing his hand onto the table where he sat.  "I was taken from my home, because our Father and Uncles led a stupid rebellion that was doomed from the start.  Father let them take me away, his last heir.  Eddard Stark was more a father to me than Balon Greyjoy ever was."

           "So you're a wolf now are you?"

           "I'm a Kraken, and I will always be a Kraken," Theon exclaimed.  "But it was wolves that made me a man, who taught me how to fight.  Any other House would have kept me chained up like a dog."

           "You _were_ a prisoner, you fool."

             "I'm well aware of what I was.  It was only ever in name though, not reality."

             "If you were so happy with the Starks why are you here now?" Asha asked, leaning back in her seat across from her Brother.

             "I came here on behalf of Robb Stark, the King in the North, to bring terms of an alliance between the North and the Iron Islands.  I was to deliver them to our Father, but that obviously won't be happening now."

             "You lower yourself to act as a messenger for a boy king, Theon?  You want to be a Lord, and yet you act as a servant."

             "Aye, because I _choose_ to serve," Theon answered.  "Robb Stark is a friend, a friend who I have ridden into battle, side by side with. Out of all the men in Westeros who call themselves king, he is the only one who is fit to rule."

             "It sounds like you are in love, Brother," Asha chuckled.

             "Robb is like a brother to me, and his Father was like my own.  I would see vengeance done on that piece of shit that sits on the Iron Throne.  And I would see the House of Greyjoy redeemed from what it has become."

             "And what does _King Stark_ have to offer a lowly house like ours?"

            "Everything that we could ever want, Sister. Tell me, have you ever wondered how much gold sits in the halls of Casterly Rock?"

             "Casterly Rock? The Lannisters home?"

             "Yes, the Lannister's home," Theon confirmed.  "But if we agree to an alliance with the Starks, it will be _ours_.  It will be a place where the Iron born can create a more fortuitous life. No more living on top of barren rocks, just struggling to survive.  There would be abundant fertile ground in the Westerlands.  We can barely grow weeds here, let alone food."

            "When we need food we _take_ it.  Or have you forgotten about paying the iron price?" Asha mocked him.

            "We pay a greater price every time we sack a town, Sister.  The price of having the words thieves, murderers, and rapists associated with our House. Who would ever stand with us? Who would follow our command? We are on our own, and if you think we aren't then you have not studied your history well enough," Theon finished.

            "All of this is moot, Theon. Even _I_ do not command the loyalty of all of our people. For you it will be even less. Our Uncles will not sit by idly and bow down to you.  Once word reaches Euron that our Father is dead, he will sail to the shores of Pyke and claim the Iron Islands for himself.  He will have our heads off and mounted on spikes the moment after his boots touch rock."

            "Victarion will not obey him. He will fight for the seat as well. We could combine forces against Crow's Eye."

            "And if Euron falls, and Victarion is the victor, do you think he will suffer us looking over his shoulder for long?" Asha asked.  "The only one of us who will be left alive is Uncle Aeron, and that is only because he is now a feckless priest."

            "It looks like we are both in an unenviable position then," Theon commented.  "What do you mean to do?"

            Asha shrugged.  "Take what ships I have, and take to the sea. Survive.  Do you have a better option?"

            "You know I do.  It is the same one that I came here to present to our late Father."

            "Join you in the little wolf boy's crusade?"

            "You mock him, and you mock me, yet what have you accomplished Sister?" Theon growled, sick of Asha's condescending tone.  "You lead your small fleet of ships to pillage fishing villages full of men, women and children who have not lifted a sword their entire lives.  You prey on the weak.  When have you ever stood across from a fierce opponent, had to dodge and parry against an experienced warrior?  Well Robb Stark has done it, and I have done it.  The Lannisters may well be evil fucks, but they can fight as well as anyone. We have fought them and we have killed them in real battles.  Think about that before you speak so ignorantly again."

           Theon had allowed Asha to speak to him as she pleased since he arrived, but he had had enough.  He was a child no longer, and he was the proper Lord of the Iron Islands.  His speech seemed to have had an effect because the girl stayed silent for minutes after.

            "So we join Robb Stark, and he just _gives_ us Casterly Rock?" she finally questioned.

            "Those are his words, and the Starks don't make promises unless they mean to keep them."

            "The thought of Casterly Rock is grand, Theon, but I won't completely abandon this place.  This is my home.  It is still your home, no matter how long you have been gone from it."

            Theon waved his hand at her concern. "Robb will aid us in taking it back, I know he will.  Once we take Lannisport, we will have more ships, ships that we could use to take the Iron Islands back from our Uncles.  And once the other Islanders know that we control Casterly Rock, and have the force of a King behind us, they will not be so quick to remain loyal."

            "This all sounds too hopeful," Asha muttered.

            "Like you just said, what other option is there for us.  Sail with me to meet Robb at the Crag and see him in person, hear the words spoken from his own lips. If you are still doubtful, then you can take your ships and sail in circles for the rest of your days as you please."

            Silence reigned between them again, but Theon knew that he had her.  She had very little choice in the matter.  In the quiet that stood in a haze around them Theon got the first real opportunity to observe his Sister since he had returned.  She barely resembled the girl he remembered from his youth. She had not been an attractive girl then, but that had certainly changed.  Her dark hair was cut to her shoulders, and she wore men's clothing, but her other features were assuredly female.  Her facial features were well defined, and gave off a highborn look that was not in fitting with her adventurous nature.  He was actually met with an image of what he believed the younger Stark daughter would look like in the years to come.  His musings were interrupted when Asha abruptly stood from her chair and made her way towards the door.

            "Where are you going woman!" Theon shouted, rising from his own chair.

            Asha stopped at the door and turned her head towards him.  "We do not have long before our Uncles will make their play for power.  I will gather what forces I can.  Be ready to go at a moment's notice." She took another step out the door, but turned back again as if remembering something. "One more thing, Theon."

            "What is that," he asked.

            "If this crazy plan of yours does not work, then I will take my sword and cut off your balls." Asha was out the door as soon as the threat was finished.

 

 

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            Olyvar Frey could not have asked for much more than to be the squire to a King.  The only part of it that bothered him was how the position was attained. His Father was an awful man, an opportunist. When Robb Stark had appeared at Walder Frey's door, needing passage to try and save his imprisoned Father, Walder Frey had showed his true nature unashamedly.  Olyvar had been ashamed enough for the both of them.

            The night was clear and comfortable, so he had brought King Robb's armor to clean outside of his tent next to the remains of a smoldering campfire.  He dipped a rag into a bucket of water and began removing the dirt and dust. It was true that night was nice, but Olyvar had other motives for being outside.  Any man who took the life of a member of his family was referred to as kinslayer, but he did not know the proper term for a man was actively engaging in spying on them.    For that was what he was doing.

            His tent was situated among the contingent of other Freys, closest to his family members.  It had not been an easy thing for him to essentially demean whatever honor his family had left by warning the King, but he believed in loyalty and duty...things that most of his relations did not.  He watched them all meander around the camp, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while doing so.  Nothing had especially drawn his interest since he began keeping watch, but that night something was different.  He could practically feel something in the air that was not right. Olyvar was proven correct when he saw both Ser Stevron and his son Ryman Frey standing closely together outside of Ser Stevron's tent.  That in itself wasn't odd, but they were looking around, surveying the scenes around them, staying in the shadows.

            Eventually the two men stepped away from the tent and started walking out towards the edges of the camp. Without another thought, Olyvar dropped the armor he had been washing and was walking fast to catch up with them. He felt his unease was justified when he saw them walk all the way to the outskirts of the Frey host, who guarded their own section of the camp.  The men who stood watch paid the two elder Freys no mind as they continued on into the darkness of the night and into the plains.  Olyvar kept a low profile and when one of the watchmen turned his attention, took off after them.

            The light from the war camp quickly faded and Olyvar was disarmed by the presence of the darkness, which was only softened by the lights in the night sky.  It was a struggle to keep his kin in sight, but somehow he managed to find his way. He followed until he saw them stop walking, and stand next to a distinctive looking set of trees, whose roots had grown twisted around each other.  Olyvar dropped to his knees and literally crawled as close as he dared to get to them.  They waited for what felt like hours before something happened.  Olyvar heard the sounds of a horse's feet before he saw it and its rider appear next to Ser Stevron.  He could not see the rider's sigil as he dismounted, but his gut told him it was Frey.

            "A letter from Lord Walder," the rider spoke, handing a folded parchment to Ser Stevron.

            "And what does it say soldier?" Ser Stevron asked.  "My eyes are no good in the light, so it is useless to try and read it here."

            "Your Father has been in communication with Lord Tywin Lannister.  Tywin is still encamped at Harrenhall due to the presence of Renly Baratheon in the south, but he is aware of Stark's host moving on the Westerlands."

            "And what does he say on the matter," Ryman encouraged in his annoying voice.

            "Lord Tywin is willing to offer a substantial amount of gold," the rider began again.  "Along with that, the Lord of the Twins would carry the title Warden of the Riverlands.  Furthermore, a son of the Lord's choosing would be married to the younger Stark daughter and hold title Warden of the North while ruling over Winterfell."

            "What would Lannister have us do in exchange for these most generous terms?" Ser Stevron pressed.

            "When Stark brings his forces to march on the Golden Tooth, you are to keep your own forces towards the rear of the army. At an opportune moment, you are to strike the Northern forces from behind and savage them.  The force inside the Tooth will take that as signal to launch their own attack.  Lord Tywin would have you capture Robb Stark or Brynden Tully alive if possible, so that he may bargain for the Kingslayer's release, as he is still imprisoned at Riverrun."

            "What does my Father say of the offer?"

            The rider thought on his response carefully. "My Lord Frey feels that it would be prudent to see that Lord Tywin's wishes are carried out, to see to the future ascension of the House of Frey.  He knows that you will not disappoint him as his heir."

            "Robb Stark left men at the Twins. What is to be done about them?" Ryman asked.

            "They will be dealt with accordingly at the proper time.  Do you have a message to return to Lord Frey?"

            Ryman fidgeted as if eager to start off, but Ser Stevron was silent and still.  Olyvar knew him to be an intelligent man, but he was also Walder Frey's son, and had been waiting to be Lord of the Twins his entire life.  Therefore Olyvar's surprise was subdued somewhat when Stevron Frey spoke.

            "Tell my Father that I will see that his wishes are fulfilled, and will make him proud."

            Olyvar did not want to believe that his family was so awful, but this was just a testament to the fact. He watched carefully as the rider got back onto his horse and took off into the night.  Staying where he was, he watched as Stevron and Ryman walked back towards the camp.  He waited until he could no longer see them, and only then did he rise and stretch his limbs. His gait was quick as he practically ran back towards the camp, and only slowed when the watchmen were visible. The guard turned his head left and Olyvar made his move.  It turned out that the watchmen were much more vigilant of people coming into the camp than leaving it, because just as we about to cross into the sea of tents, a voice called him to a halt.

            "What do you think your doing boy?"

            "Umm, just out taking a piss," Olyvar answered nervously.

            "Is that so?" the man asked doubtfully, walking over to him.  "I think that you were up to no good.  Why don't we see what Ser Stevron has to say about his brother sneaking out and back to the camp?"  The man, who was much larger than Olyvar, gripped him tightly by the arm and dragged him into camp. Luckily, most of the soldiers were sleeping at that time of night, and there was not a greater spectacle until they stood outside of Ser Stevron's tent.  He was pushed inside the tent harshly, to see Stevron and his son seated at a table, shocked at his unexpected intrusion.

            "Found this one sneaking back into camp," the watchmen explained.  "Thought you would like to have words with him, seeing as he is your kin."

            "Leave us.  Now!" Ser Stevron ordered the man.  As soon as the guard was gone Stevron focused his attention on him. "Out on a nighttime stroll were you Olyvar?"

            "I just had to piss," he responded, as calmly as he could.

            "You could have pissed outside of your tent, instead of walking out into the wilderness in the middle of the night," Ryman spoke.  "Are you certain you were not doing something else?  You were not following anyone were you?"

            "Of course not."

            "You did not happen to see me or my son while you were out on your stroll?" Ser Stevron questioned, stepping closer.

            "I saw no one Ser." He looked and saw Ryman and had risen from his seat as well, and they were moving to flank him.

            "I'm sure that as squire to the King you have become rather attached to him.  Is that true?" Ryman moved even closer.

            "It is true," Olyvar answered, beginning to sweat.

            "More loyal than to your own kin Olyvar?" Before Olyvar knew what happened, Ryman and Stevron had him shoved up against the wall of the tent. "You heard our plans didn't you Olyvar?  You know what we mean to do?  Do not lie to us."

            Olyvar's anger got the best of him and his fabricated story left him.  "Aye, I heard you mean to turn traitor.  You bastards mean to turn on your King."

            Ryman shoved him harder and growled. "There are plenty of other Kings to fight for.  One will not be missed. The question is whether we will have to slit your throat to keep your silence."

            At this, Olyvar felt the blood leave his face. He truly had not considered how far they might be willing to go to see their plan through. His life was obviously meaningless to them at this point.  However, he needed to get to the King.  His arms were to his sides, which turned out to be to his advantage.  He had removed his sword, but his knife was still attached to his belt.  Only slightly aware of them still talking, Olyvar reached his hand down, gripped the hilt of his small blade, and thrust it as hard as he could into Ryman's ribs.

            Ryman screamed and grabbed his crimson-leaking fat belly, falling back on the ground.  Olyvar was stunned by the impact of Stevron's fist as it made contact with his cheek. His vision was momentarily blurred, but when it returned he saw Stevron going for the table and his sword. Without thinking, Olyvar ran and launched his body at the older man, causing them both to fall on the table and send it splintering into pieces.  Olyvar's chest hurt from the impact with Stevron, and his arms from trying to break his fall, but he got to his feet and once he was outside of the tent he ran as fast as he ever had in his life.


	7. Chapter 7

_Never trust a Frey_. Those were the words that kept running through his thoughts.  He had never really had faith in them, but to have them plotting to attack him with his back turned was something that beyond angered him.  He looked into the face of Stevron Frey, who was knelt before him, hands shackled, and all Robb wanted was to remove his head. Unfortunately, there were other things that had to be taken into consideration.

            "Where is my son?  Where is Ryman?" Ser Stevron asked, sounding completely defeated.  The man was on the ground, in the middle of the square inside Wayfarer's Rest.  Robb's Lords stood circling him, their looks grim, while Grey Wind sat at Robb's side, teeth bared and eyes never leaving the captive.

            "Your son is dead," Robb informed him harshly.   "He bled to death."

            "Killed by his own blood," Stevron growled.

            Robb stepped forward and gripped the man by his neck. "Oh, and what was it you meant to do with my squire?  Were you going to allow him to bring words of your Father's treachery to me?"

            "That boy is a liar!"

            "He is no liar," Robb argued.  "After Olyvar crashed into my tent and spoke of your plans for treason, I sent my fastest riders to track down your Father's messenger." It was true that Olyvar had actually crashed into Robb's tent.  He had been so determined to bring the news that he felt he did not have the time to use the entrance.  Olyvar had managed to smash his second table of the night.  Which was why Robb had banished him to his bed for rest.

            "Let's just say that when my men found your rider, they encouraged him to be forthcoming with his purpose for visiting our camp." At those words, Stevron bowed his head, knowing that he was finished.  Robb turned his back to the man to leave him to stew in his shame. He walked forward until he was standing right in front of Jason Mallister.

            "Lord Mallister, I command you to take five hundred men and join your forces with those I have left at the Twins.  I want you to take control of the crossing and place Walder Frey in a cell. If he puts up a fight, inform him that I hold his heir and a group of his kin in chains.  His actions and his restraint will determine their fate."

            "I will travel right away, Your Grace," Lord Mallister promised.

            "One more thing Lord Mallister, incase the man does not realize it when you seize his home.  Make sure to tell Lord Walder that the deal my Mother struck with him is broken." Robb turned to the soldiers standing behind Stevron.  "Take him, and the other highborn prisoners to the dungeons."  Robb swung around without another word and made his way into the keep and Great Hall, knowing that his men would follow. He sat at a table and poured from a pitcher of wine as the room slowly began to fill.

            "Well, I'll be the first to say that I'm not bloody surprised," Greatjon Umber called as he took a seat to Robb's left.  "We should have stormed their walls and taken the crossing on our way south."

            "My Father was still a prisoner at the time.  It would have delayed us days," Robb commented, although he truthfully agreed.

            "We have a new problem at the moment though," Lord Karstark interrupted. "That being almost two thousand Frey soldiers sitting in our camp.  We hold their leaders and have just sent soldiers to capture their Lord."

            "I must talk with the other Frey commanders to find out where their loyalty lies," Robb stated.  "The soldiers are a completely different matter.  We cannot let them go until we know the Twins have been secured. Once that happens they may have safe passage back to their homes or stay and fight for our cause."

            "What will happen with the Twins?" Brynden Tully questioned. "The Freys cannot be given any say about who can and cannot cross.  If we were forced into retreat we would be trapped."

            "No Frey will be allowed Lordship over the Twins until the war is done," Robb answered.  "Walder Frey will be permanently removed from his position, and one of his more trustworthy heirs will be raised up to that responsibility."

            "You should just make your squire Lord and be done with it," Greatjon Umber chuckled.  "That boy has guts, much more than his Father has ever shown."

            "There are other Freys who hold claims to the Twins which are better than Olyvar's.  I'm sure not all of them are traitorous bastards.  Plus, I'm pretty sure he would detest the chore of having to rein in his family," Robb concluded, remembering his squire's dreams of travel. "It is of little importance until after everything is settled."

            "Do we continue on with our plan?" the Blackfish asked.

            "Aye," Robb responded.  "Thoros and his contingent of soldiers will leave tomorrow for his mountain path. We will afford them one day of travel, and then move the remaining strength of our forces within sight of the Tooth. Once Thoros provides a signal, we march on its walls."

            "Do we just leave the Frey soldiers here on their own?" Lord Vance asked "I admit having them outside the walls of my home makes me uneasy."

            Robb shook his head.  "No, I will leave one thousand men here as a rear guard to keep watch over them. They have already been disarmed, so they should be of little threat.  That still leaves us around fifteen thousand men to attack with. See to your duties and start making preparations to leave."

 

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            The morning of their march bore the first true signs of winter converging on Westeros. As Robb stepped out of his tent, he witnessed a light sheet of white frost covering the ground. Even his thick armor and fur cloak did not stifle the unnatural chill.  Stepping outside further he was met with the sight of Olyvar and the newly released from captivity, Perwyn Frey, Olyvar's eldest Brother.

            "Your Grace, we managed to scrounge up five hundred of our soldiers who are willing to march with you.  The others want to return to their homes.  They have made a vow to leave peacefully," Olyvar explained, seemingly unaware whether Robb would be pleased or not.

            "I commend you on getting that many," Robb praised. "Honestly, I'm surprised you could convince fifty."

            "My Brother and I should be proof enough, that not every man of the Twins is completely bereft of honor," Perwyn pointed out. It had been a difficult thing for Robb to hold Perwyn as a prisoner, even for as short of a period as it was. The man had served in his guard, and fought well for him.  It did not take much convincing for Robb to know the man was sincere in his disavowing of his Father's deceit.

            "Join your men with Lord Mallister's host.  You will take the place of the men that he took North," Robb gave his orders.

            "Yes Your Grace, we will do our job well." Perwyn stated, then turned and walked away.

            "I've readied your horse Your Grace."  Olyvar pointed over to where the beast was tied.

            "Good, I want to move as soon as possible.  I do not know how long it will take for Thoros to do whatever he plans to do."

            "I am sure a flaming sword will be involved," Olyvar stated.

            "Undoubtedly."

            The bulk of the army was on the move within the hour.  Those in charge of the baggage carts stayed back to pack up the camp, but would join them soon enough.  As Robb rode, his mind was cycling through the various scenarios that could play out in their attack.  He knew so many things could happen that would be unpredictable, but it did not stop him from trying.  This was to be his boldest step yet, and the fear of failure weighed heavily on his shoulders. His mood was in danger of turning grim, however he could also literally feel Grey Wind as he ran through the valley ahead of the army.  It was a freeing feeling that Robb could not adequately describe, but it helped to relax his tense shoulders and burdened mind.

            However, no amount of fleeting feelings from his direwolf could stop the anxiousness that emerged when they came in sight of the Golden Tooth. It was not so long ago that his Father had been imprisoned and he had thought to march on King's Landing and free him as if it was just a simple exercise.  It had been an easy goal to have, because he had been a great distance away from making it a reality.  Now, though, he was a quick sprint away from the walls of a fortress, full of men who wanted him dead.  This was as real as it could be. It was an inevitable conclusion that since his army was able to see the Tooth, that every defender could also see his army.  The defenders would be ready, secure in their advantageous position, meaning that Robb's success hinged on Thoros providing an element of surprise.

            "A good day to kill Lannisters," Lord Umber barked as he brought his horse next to Robb's.

            "I have a feeling it will not be the light of day that we fight in, Lord Umber.  They will have just noticed our approach, and will be in a rush to make preparations. It will be to Thoros' advantage to wait for darkness to fall."

            "Aye, you are likely right Your Grace.  What are your orders then?"

            "Get the catapults as close as you judge them safe from attack. Make sure the rams and siege ladders are distributed as well," Robb said, surveying the length of the valley between armies.

            "I'll see it done Your Grace."

            "Tell the men to be to their positions, but to rest themselves. Make sure they have a meal. There will be no time for it later," Robb warned.

            As the Greatjon left to see to his duties, the Blackfish took his place. "I don't mean to be a bother Your Grace, but there have been some whispers of concern from your Lords."

            "I hate whispers, Uncle," Robb mentioned.  "But say what it is on your mind."

            "No one questions your ability or you spirit Your Grace, and you have shown yourself remarkably well in battle.  However, some of your Lords, _not me_ , feel that it would be best for our cause if you led from behind the battle lines."

            "Sit and watch my men die?"

            "Like I said Your Grace, it was not _my_ opinion," the Blackfish clarified.

            "My place is with my men, Uncle.  If I, their King, am not willing to put my life on the line for the North, then how can I ask it of my men?"

            "I'll see to it that the whispers stop, Your Grace.  I do feel I must warn you though."

            "About what?" Robb inquired.

            "I have seen several sieges during my lifetime Your Grace. The only thing that is a certainty in them is that many men will die.  Prepare yourself for it."

            "I appreciate the warning Uncle."

            The day was spent making sure that every small detail was seen to. Every one of his bannerman had a specific duty, a specific place to attack or guard.  Contingencies were thought of and argued over. Robb listened to the opinion of his seasoned men closely, but he made sure to let his men know who it was who had the final voice.

            Eventually the daylight began to wane, and the brazier fires along the walls of the Tooth became more discernable.  The walls and towers were fully manned with archers, waiting to rain down death. While the mood had been relaxed earlier, it had hardened considerably as the day ran on.  The catapults were loaded, archers had arrows at the ready, infantry was formed in tight lines, and the cavalry had been dispatched to guard the army's flanks.  Robb and his personal guard stood on foot at the center of the army.  Now all that could be done was to wait.  Time passed slowly by, and Robb did his best to keep Grey Wind still at his side by running a hand through his fur.  The wolf could sense its prey on the other side of the wall, and his mouth watered.

            There was a moment of complete calm and silence before the signal happened. It was almost as if every man could feel it before they actually realized it.  Then the calm ended and the explosions started.  From behind the fortress that guarded the pass, balls of fire shot into the sky, which were followed by the agonized screams of dying men. Robb watched, as there was a flurry of activity on the fortress' walls as men scrambled to discover what was happening behind them.  This was Thoros' chaos come to fruition.   

            "This is it men, the first step on the way to Casterly Rock!" Robb screamed to project his voice as far as it would go.  "Our friends have put the enemy on their heels. Now let us go and put them on their backs!  Begin the attack!" Robb raised a fist and the first wave of the attack began.  Five catapults sent the flaming boulders they housed through the air and straight into the fortress' walls.  He cheered as loudly as any other as three of the shots made impact dead on and sent pieces of wall falling to the ground.  He raised his fist again, and hundreds of archers stepped forward from the infantry lines. Small fires had been lit on the ground spanning the length of the army, and the archers dipped the tip of their arrows into the flames.  As one, they raised their bows and loosed their missiles.  The arrows fell along the wall and behind it, some hitting flesh while others set structures aflame.

            There were two more volleys of arrows and boulders, before the infantry lines stepped forward.  The lines started slowly and then they were moving as fast as a man weighed down in armor could. Robb ran, surrounded by his guard, behind the first line of infantry who carried the siege ladders. Soon enough Robb saw the first signs of resistance as an arrow pierced a man in front of him, causing the victim to grab his chest and fall to the ground.  Robb grimaced as he was forced to leap over the dying man, but he continued on.  He raised his shield as more and more arrows came, felling more and more of his men. The walls grew larger and larger the closer he made it, until there was nowhere left to go.

            The scene at the walls was everything that the Blackfish had promised. Screams roared from the defenders above and from those dying below.  Jagged rocks were thrown down on them, one clipping Robb in his shoulder. He shook off the blow, and continued on helping a group of soldiers raise a ladder.  "Up, up!" Robb encouraged those around him. "Secure the wall!" He looked left and right and could see other ladders had already been placed, and men were already at the top. He was sure he a Lord Karstark lusting for blood already hacking away at the enemy. 

            Robb was shoulder to shoulder with Harwin, who had already gripped the ladder, meaning to begin his climb.  "See you on the other side Your Grace!" he called as he stepped higher. Robb hoped he meant the other side of the wall and not whatever awaited them after death.  He instantly threw thoughts of dying out of his mind and pulled his body up the rungs of the ladder.  More rocks fell, but they all missed.   Looking straight up, he watched as Harwin hopped over the parapet. Robb was in the same place in another moment, and got his first view beyond the wall.  Fires raged everywhere, and the entire reinforcement camp was alight. Closer to him he could see Lannister soldiers stacked deep trying to make it up the stairs to repel the attackers. Robb set his feet on the ground, and swung at the first Lannister man he found.  He slashed the man down his sword arm, and then followed by impaling him through the stomach.  His sword struggled out of the man's insides, and then fell free with a spurt of crimson.

            "To me! To me!" Robb called to his guard.  Several of them formed up beside him, creating a stiff line that stretched the width of the wall.  They fought their way towards the stairs that would take them below to the valley floor.  It was slow moving as the waves of Lannisters grew thicker and thicker.  Robb had been too slow to raise his shield against one opponent, and took a sword tip through his arm.  The wound stung fiercely, but he had swung down and completely removed his foe's own arm.  At one point there was another loud thud, and the walls shook.  The ram had reached the gate.  Many of the Lannister men turned their backs and started moving to reinforce the entrance.  It made it all the easier to strike them down.

            It did not matter how many men tried to hold the gate, soon enough the head of the battering ram pierced it and forced them back.  The fortress had been broken open, and the first thing through was a blur of grey fur that latched onto the first throat it could find. Enemy soldiers retreated in fear as the direwolf left carnage in his wake.  The Northmen and River Lords pressed forward and pressed forward until the Lannisters began to run for the opposite side and to the gate that meant escape.  Robb had begun to relax when he saw so many men trying to leave, but that was a mistake. A large man dressed in brilliant golden armor ran from a building and crashed into Robb. 

            Robb fell hard into a pile of crates, and lost his breath for a moment. He had little time to gather himself as the other man charged at him again, his sword poised to strike. Robb countered and jumped back to his feet.  He and the other man, obviously highborn from the look of him and the quality of his cover, traded blows and tried to find the other's weakness.  It did not take long for Robb to realize that his opponent's weakness was his over powered slashes.  He put too much force into them and left himself off-balance for just a moment. Robb went on the defensive and did his best to frustrate the man.  It did not take long before the Lannister became even more reckless on a swing, slipped and fell to his knees.  Robb dropped his shield, used both hands to grip the hilt of his sword and drove it down deeply through the man's shoulder and into his chest cavity. The Lannister's last action was to cough up blood before he fell dead.

            Retrieving his sword from its gruesome sheath, he looked around and saw that the battle was won.  The strength of their numbers and the work of Thoros had doomed the defenders of the Tooth. The Lannisters who remained suddenly realized that they engulfed and could not escape, many of them throwing down their swords and begging for mercy.  Robb saw a winded Rickard Karstark leaning on his sword, and almost commanded him to take charge over the prisoners, but quickly thought better of it. "Ser Marq," Robb called to the knight who was wiping blood from the edge of his blade, "collect the enemy weapons and see that those left alive are put under guard."

            "At once, Your Grace," the man shouted back.

            Robb gathered some of his guard together, those who were uninjured, and meant to set off for the other side of the valley, and to view the continuation of his path west.  Walking through the fortress, he could tell that while the Lannister army had been depleted in numbers, it did not suffer from lack of provisions.  There were casks of wine and ale, food, and rooms full of spare armor and weapons of a better quality than some of his men would have ever seen during their more simple lives.  He finally found himself on the other side of the fortress, where Thoros and Beric Dondarrion stood surround by their companions and those Stark men Robb had sent with them.

            "It looks like the day is yours Wolf King," Thoros congratulated, before taking a drink from a skin of wine.  He wiped his mouth and laughed.  "Nothing like a drink after a good fight. Can I tempt you Your Grace?"

            Robb grabbed the skin and enjoyed the taste of the wine as it filled his mouth. He took one more, then handed it back. "You did your job well, Thoros. I'll see that you get everything promised."

            "Much appreciated," the man responded.  "I must say, it has been a long time since I have been in a proper battle.  Would you believe me if I said it was invigorating?"

            "There are to be many battles ahead," Robb assured the priest, watching as men around them began to attend to the dead and wounded. "You are more than welcome to remain with us."

            "Aye, maybe I will."

            Robb turned to Harwin, who stood with him.  "I want riders and patrols established around this side of the valley. Have men stationed in the towers and on the walls as well.  We must guard against any attempts to take this position back until we are ready to march again."

            After leaving Thoros, Robb found himself wandering around the battlefield. There were many bodies scattered around, many men his own, many more wearing Lannister colors. Grey Wind had found his way to him, his nose covered in enemy blood.  They walked, with Robb stopping to give comfort to his men who were not long for the world.  It was difficult to watch as the life left from their eyes, their breath ceasing. He had practiced at being a sword fighter for his years at Winterfell, but it was experiencing these moments that made him a soldier.

            The night wore on, and Robb seated himself against a tree. As his arm impacted the trunk he hissed as the memory of his wound came back to him.

            "You should have a maester look at that Your Grace," Brynden Tully advised as he took a seat next to Robb.  The Blackfish reached over and move Robb's armor aside to view the cut. "It is not so bad, but you should clean it so that infection does not take root.  I won't have to send a raven to your Mother."

            "She would likely ride here just for small cut, so better you don't. Is there any word yet on our losses?"

            "Aye. So far we have counted over three hundred dead.  That number will rise though, because over that number were wounded as well."

            "Three hundred," Robb exhaled.  "It could have been worse."

            "It should have been worse," Brynden Tully argued. "Thoros' distraction worked better than anticipated.  Those fireballs burned dozens of men to ashes.  I just saw what's left of them and it isn't fucking pretty. I don't necessarily commend Thoros' use of fire, but we would have lost well into the thousands without him."

            "From here on though, it will be worse," Robb commented, leaning his head back.  "We relied on trickery to capture the Kingslayer and to take the Tooth.  I have a feeling that will not work once we try to take the Rock, or face Tywin Lannister in a straight battle.  We are only just beginning."


	8. Chapter 8

Robb's words to his Uncle after the fall of the Golden Tooth had turned out to not be entirely accurate.  Things had not become harder.  Within days of their victory, the Castle at Sarsfield had fallen with little resistance, as had the village at Oxcross. Though they were beaten, Robb gave strict orders to his men not to sack the towns.  The army took some provisions, but mostly left the people alone. Robb did not want to cause more grief for the smallfolk than necessary.

            Part of the reason that their movements had been of relative ease, was that Robb had personally struck a blow to the Lannisters.  The man who he had slayed at the Tooth bearing golden armor had been Ser Stafford Lannister, commander of the Lannister forces who were not marching with Lord Tywin.  Now the defense of the Westerlands had fallen to Ser Stafford's son, Daven, and the man's first command had been to draw all of his bannerman back to Casterly Rock and Lannisport. 

            Robb had left a garrison of one thousand men to defend the Tooth, and a smaller force at Sarsfield to act as a central point between the Tooth and the rest of his forces, which he was currently leading north along the coast. Robb rode at the head of his force of cavalry, which was making quick time on the way to the Crag. His forces pushed forward until Robb was in sight of one of the more unimpressive structures he had seen. The castle at the Crag was old and crumbling.  One of the towers had completely caved in, as had other spots on the wall. While the ease of his capture of Sarsfield and Oxcross had left him eager for a greater challenge, he found himself hoping that the Westerlings would simply submit and spare him the effort. He currently held the Lord of the Crag hostage, and knew that may serve as persuasive leverage.

            Robb's army assembled itself around the Crag, preparing for a siege if one was called for.  To him, it seemed that either the Westerlings were not aware that a large force of soldiers sat outside their walls, or they simply did not care.  He could see little movement or reaction from the insignificant amount of defenders who were left to man the walls.  He was hesitant to give the order to attack, unsure of whether the defenders were trying to hide their true capabilities or intentions. His reluctance proved beneficial, because in a matter of moments, the main gate to the castle was opened, and two soldiers on horseback rode through at a relaxed pace.  The rider on the left carried a banner bearing a yellow field and six shells denoting the sigil of House Westerling, while the other carried a banner of white.  _Surrender._

            "Greatjon, Uncle with me," Robb called to his two most trusted advisors. He encouraged his mount forward to meet House Westerling's messengers.  The riders all met between the castle and the waiting army.   The man carrying the white banner, who was straight-backed and rigid, and bore a silvery-grey beard, was the first to speak.

            "I am Ser Rolph Spicer, castellan of the Crag, and this is Ser Tomas Hawtrey. On behalf of my sister, Lady Sybell of House Westerling, I surrender the castle.  In exchange for her surrender, my sister only requests that our lands and our people be spared from harm."

            "I am Robb Stark, King in North and of the Trident.  I do hereby accept your Lady's surrender and her terms," Robb responded.

            Ser Rolph bowed his head.  "Then my Lady offers her hospitality to you and your Lords."

            "It is appreciated Ser Rolph.  I expect we will only take advantage of it for a short time."

            The two Crag riders turned and headed back for the castle while Robb stayed in place with his men.  "Send in an advance guard and secure the castle.  I want all of their ravens caged.  It won't do for any word of our movements to be spread, especially if Theon is true to his word and arrives on the shores."

            "I'll see to it personally, Your Grace," the Greatjon promised. "I'll send in our own cooks as well.  It wouldn't do for them to try and poison you, either."

            Robb learned soon enough that the condition of the castle on the outside was rather foretelling of its condition on the interior.  Everything was in disrepair, and he was sure that the servant's quarters in Winterfell were larger than the room that he was afforded. The one thing it did have though, was a window with a view of the coast.  He found himself standing there looking out into a wide stretch of endless blue, hoping that his gamble would pay off.  He trusted Theon, but as much as he thought him a brother, he was not his blood.  Robb knew that Theon still took pride in the Greyjoy name, and knew that his family could probably offer a convincing enough argument about abandoning Robb's cause. Until it was certain though, he would not give up his hope.

            Robb's thoughts were interrupted by a knock to the door of his chambers. "Enter," he answered the sound, turning to face the visitor.

            Olyvar walked in dressed in simpler fare, having abandoned his armor. "Your Grace, Lady Jeyne Westerling has arrived to accompany you to the meal that has been prepared in your honor."  Olyvar stepped aside, out the doorway, and in stepped a young woman, who Robb had to admit was beautiful.  She was slight in stature, but had a very soft face, large brown eyes, and long, curled hair that was a mixture of brown and gold.  She wore a dress of the same shade of yellow that adorned her house sigil, which only added to her beauty.  After spending so many days on campaign with other soldiers, mostly older than he, Jeyne Westerling was a pleasing sight to his eyes.

            The young woman curtseyed as she stood in front of him.  "Your Grace, it is an honor to welcome you to our home, on behalf of my family.  It is not often that we have the privilege of hosting a king."

            "I have been very pleased with my stay so far, my Lady. I was just admiring the beautiful view of the sea from my window," Robb informed her.

            "It is very pleasing to look at Your Grace.  If you are ready, shall I take you to the hall for the feast?" Jeyne asked pleasantly.

            "Lead the way my Lady."

            "Your Grace?" Olyvar called as Robb passed.  "Would you not like your crown for the evening?"

            Robb looked back and saw Olyvar holding his crown, and almost wanted to throttle his squire for reminding him of the annoyance, but Robb steeled himself for the impending discomfort.  He reached out for it and sat it on his head, sighing.  He turned back and held out his right arm for Jeyne to take. "Now we may go."

            They walked through the doors and down the hall, again accompanied by two of Robb's guard. "If a my be so bold to ask Your Grace, it looked you were not enamored with the prospect of wearing your crown?"

            Robb laughed lightly.  "If I may be honest my Lady, the thing is horribly uncomfortable."

            "It does look very heavy.  Are not most crowns made of gold?"

            "Southern crowns Lady Jeyne.  A life in the North is too harsh to worry about such luxuries as gold. It would not be right for me to wear a crown made of it," Robb explained.

            "It is hard to escape the lure of gold here in the Westerlands, especially in the shadow of the Lannisters, whose name cannot be mentioned in the same breath without out a reference to it," Jeyne said bitterly.

            "Your family is sworn to Lannisters, is it not?  You sound displeased, although for my own reasons, I could not blame you if you were.

            "I imagine not, Your Grace.  From stories I've heard of your Father, he was a good man."

            "Aye, he was my Lady. A great man."

            "As to your question, the Westerlands are rich in gold...or rather _were_ rich in gold. The Crag used to have prosperous mines, and we paid great amounts to the Lannisters, my family being sworn to them. However, not long ago, our mines stopped producing, and our fortunes started to wane.  We have struggled to maintain ourselves, and even though we paid them piles and piles of gold over the years, they offer us little in the way of aide."

            "I am sorry for the way you have been treated my Lady," Robb replied. "My Father always considered it a great honor and great responsibility to be there for the men who swore to march with him in battle.  It is why there is such a great deal of kinship among the Northern houses."

            They continued on, and Jeyne became quiet.  Robb could tell something was on her mind, but she seemed to be conflicted over it.  "Is there something wrong, my Lady?" he inquired.

            Again, she looked hesitant, struggling to meet his eyes.  "You have been very open and honest with me, and I feel that I owe you the same courtesy Your Grace.  It was not my own idea to come see you, and truthfully it was not to simply greet you."

            "Oh?" Robb encouraged lightly.

            "My Mother bid me come to you in order to discuss my Father, who is being held prisoner by your bannermen.  He accompanied Ser Jaime Lannister to battle and was taken hostage after his defeat at your hands."

            Robb nodded.  "I am aware of your Father, Lady Jeyne.  He is being held at Seagard with the Mallisters, and I promise you he is being treated well. You should feel no shame in wanting to discuss your Father.  I would do the same."

            Jeyne looked away from him.  "It is not that I am ashamed of asking for my Father, it is what my Mother ordered me to do in order to see it done."

            "And what was it that she ordered?" Robb asked, although he had an idea.

            "Seduce you.  Come to your bedchamber at night and convince you," she affirmed his thought. She looked away, cheeks pink.

            Robb halted their steps, and turned her towards him.  "Lady Jeyne, I am young and impulsive, and I can say that you are lovely and I would not begrudge the thought of being seduced by you. However, I value much more a person's truthfulness and honesty, and would be more inclined to grant your Father's release if I was simply asked for it."

            "I am sorry Your Grace, you must think me a fool," she muttered, regretfully.

            "You are not a fool for loving your Father.  Now do you have a question to ask of me, my Lady?"

            Jeyne looked at him in confusion for a moment, before she suddenly dropped to her knees and grabbed a hold of Robb's hand.  "Please, Your Grace, I beg of you to release my Father. He is a good man, and was simply following his Lord's command as he was sworn to do."

            Robb reached out and gripped her hands, pulling her back to her feet. "I will send a raven to Seagard, and your Father will be home in a matter of days, my Lady."

            "Truthfully?" she asked in disbelief.  "But we have no money in which to pay a ransom, or spare soldiers to offer to your campaign."

            "I ask for none of those things," Robb assured.  "Your Mother surrendered the castle without the shedding of any blood, and has been accommodating so far. Maybe too accommodating in asking you to seduce me, but I will overlook that."

            Jeyne actually managed a smile at his words.  "You are very generous Your Grace.  I truly thank you."

            "Come, let us continue on our way."

 

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            There was awkwardness in the hall as defenders and invaders dined together, but Robb tried to ignore it and enjoy his meal.  He had met Lady Sybelle briefly, and in that short time was not at all surprised that she was the sort of woman who would order her daughter to bed a man for personal gain.  Robb had tired of her quickly and left for his seat with his bannermen. While they were eating, Olyvar stood behind him and Robb waived him closer.

            "Can I do something Your Grace?" the squire asked.

            "Aye. I want you to write a letter to Seagard with orders that Lord Westerling is to be released, along with any of his men that may be with him.  I want it sent with a raven tonight," Robb commanded.

            "Yes Your Grace."

            "Releasing prisoners are we?" the Blackfish question from beside him, raising his brow.

            "There is no point in keeping him hostage any longer.  The Crag has surrendered and we will get nothing for holding him longer.  His daughter requested his release and I granted it."

            "Oh, pretty Lady Jeyne asked," the Blackfish smirked. "Well than I cannot blame you for it.  Just remember that taking a queen from the Crag would not be the most beneficial of matches. Don't settle on the first attractive woman you meet.  There are other means of satisfying more short-term desires."

            "I have no intention of taking her as my queen.  She was honest with me and I did her a kindness that was in my power.  I would hear my Mother's rant from Riverrun if I married a Lady from the Crag."

            The Blackfish chuckled.   "I just wanted to be sure you were thinking with the head that sits on your shoulders, and no others."

            "Your point is made, Uncle."

            Robb was about to take a drink from his cup when he glanced Olyvar come hurrying back into the hall, with parchment in his hand.  He slowed when he reached Robb.  "There has been a rider from the Tooth, Your Grace. He brought this," Olyvar said holding out the message.

            Robb looked down and instantly recognized the writing in his Mother's hand.

 

            _Robb,_

_Word has come from the South that Renly Baratheon has attempted a siege on King's Landing. The source of the news stated that Renly heard word that Stannis had reached Storm's End. Renly had no heart to challenge his Brother in battle and marched quickly to try and take the Throne to secure his claim. He besieged King's Landing only for a day before Tywin Lannister arrived with his forces from Harrenhal and broke the siege.  Renly Baratheon is dead. Stannis is making his way to King's Landing.  Use this news, as you will.  Be safe._

            Robb was out of his seat in an instant.  "Lady Sybelle, Ser Rolph, I'm sorry to have to interrupt this generous feast you've put on, but I am afraid a matter has arisen that needs to be discussed in the privacy of my council."

            The Lady clearly knew she was being dismissed.  "Of course, Your Grace.  Come." She waved to the members of her house, bidding them follow her out.

            The room quickly cleared, and it left Robb alone with his men. "What is it Your Grace?" Lord Karstark questioned, eagerly.

            "There has been a message from my Mother," Robb answered. "Renly Baratheon is dead and Stannis marches from Storm's End as we speak.  However, the most crucial part of her message is that it was Tywin Lannister who rode from Harrenhall to break Renly. He is even further south than he was before."

            "This means we will not have to watch our backs when we take the Rock," Greatjon Umber cheered.

            "That is how it sounds, but we do not know how old this news is," Lord Bolton reasoned.  "We do not know if Tywin means to stay, or whether he will turn back around quickly."

            "The threat of Stannis is still imminent," the Blackfish added.

            "Though, Tywin could leave half of his force in King's Landing and bring the other half North," Robb stated.  "Stannis may also be hesitant to act right away after the failure of Renly. I believe we have a window of opportunity, and we must act on it swiftly."

            "But what of Greyjoy?  Will you abandon that plan?" the Blackfish asked.

            "Not yet, I still have faith he will arrive.  I will stay here with two thousand men, while the rest of the army march south to Oxcross.  There, preparations and plans should be started to attack Casterly Rock. If there is no sight of Theon in the next day, then I will make my way south as well, and we will do the job ourselves."

 

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            Robb's orders had been carried out quickly, and not an hour after the council meeting broke, the main force of his army was on the march south again. He had placed his Uncle in command of the force, someone he trusted without question. Only the Greatjon and Lord Glover remained with him at the Crag.  Torches had been lit along the coast, and his banner struck to let Theon know of his presence, and control over the region.  The night was late, but he found himself sitting at his window looking to the sea that now was pitch black.  He found himself picking out shapes in the distance, hoping that one turned into a ship full of Ironmen.

            He sat back in his chair and sighed.  This would be another sleepless night.  He was eager for Theon to show, but he was also eager to go south and take part in planning for the siege.  More time went by, and just as he was about move to his bed, something caught his attention in the distance.  It was another shape. Then there was another near it. And another.  This was no trick of the night sky.  Robb stood and got closer.  Sure enough, sails began to materialize.  For a moment he was about to rejoice that the Greyjoys had arrived, but then a worrying realization hit him.  The Iron Islands were to the north of the Crag.  These ships were riding along the coast from the south...the direction of Lannisport.

            Instantly Robb grabbed his sword and began attaching it and his armor as he walked. He was out the door, and startled his guard outside.  "To the walls," he ordered them.  "We are under attack."

              


	9. Chapter 9

            "How did they know we would be here?" the Greatjon asked as he rushed towards the gate to the Crag, beside Robb.

            "They must have followed our march along the coast, far enough off the shore that we would not notice," Robb responded quickly, while maneuvering his arm through the strap on his shield.  "I did not think that the Lannisters would risk detaching any of their force this far away from Casterly Rock."

            "Well let us go make them regret it."

            The gate was already open, and the duo rushed through.  Olyvar had brought a pair of horses and Robb mounted his instantly, joining his guard and few hundred other men who were also mounted. His inability to sleep that night had left him jittery, and he did not even give a thought to giving any orders to the group, knowing they would simply follow his lead.  He pushed the horse forward and started moving towards the shore. Out of his window the ships had looked further off shore, but he soon realized that they had already beached. He counted fifteen ships with men pouring over the sides.  While he could see that some of the men bore the familiar Lannister colors, the rest did not look like they hailed from the Seven Kingdoms at all.  They dressed in clothes like nothing Robb had ever seen, in all sorts of fashions, and many had dyed their hair and beards in various colors. It was hard to tell from his current distance, but their banner seemed to bear a black goat.

            "The Bloody Mummers," Harwin said, from his position riding beside Robb. "Sellswords from across the sea. I saw them join their forces with the Mountain and his men a time or two while riding with Lord Beric."

            "What do you know of them?" Robb asked, trying to count their numbers.

            "They are soulless, Your Grace," Harwin responded grimly. "They are vicious fighters, and they like to hack off the limbs of their enemies.  I have been a witness to it."

            "Then let us not give them the opportunity to do it again," Robb said as he pushed his horse even harder.  He looked to his sides, checking for Grey Wind, but he did not see the direwolf anywhere. The direwolf preferred the woods to the inside of a castle, which was where Robb imagined he was. Shifting his attention back to the enemy, he saw them forming lines of spearmen and bowmen.  They were heading for a gruesome clash, and Robb knew that they would not come away unscathed.  He got closer and closer, until he could make out the finer details of the Bloody Mummers, including their piercings and scars. 

            However, his attention quickly shifted to the tip of the spear that was directly in his path.  He kept straight for as long as possible, but right before the point of impact he attempted to steer his horse left.  The effect was negligible, as instead of stabbing the horse in the neck, the spear embedded above its right front leg.  The force of the collision jolted Robb, and his horse immediately tipped over towards its injured side.  Knowing that he would be trapped under the weight of the heavy animal, he pushed himself off the saddle and rolled onto the solid ground. 

            His horse's distress had forced the attackers to step back, so Robb had time to get to his feet.  He spared a glance to his side and saw that some of his men had not been so lucky in their charge of the enemy lines.  One of his guard, Owen Norrey of the Northern mountain clans, took a spear through his neck and collapsed to the ground, likely never to rise again.  Robb saw Dacey Moremont take an arrow to the thigh, but it seemed to barely slow the fierce female fighter.  Knowing he had to save his concern for his soldiers until later, he refocused and entered the fray against the foreign contingent.  Harwin was certainly correct in his assessment of the Mummers. They were skilled, and ruthless. And while the men of the Seven Kingdoms were extremely rigid in their sword techniques, these foreigners were instinctual, their swords and bodies twisting and turning to match each new opponent. Their sword skill combined with the lighter leather armor that most wore, made their movements a blur.

            Robb found himself on the defensive.  Two men came at him, and Robb was forced to fend off an attack from the left with his shield and the one on the right with his sword.  He was pushed back into a line of his soldiers until Smalljon Umber appeared next to him to take on the attacker from his left. Now that he was free from one of his challengers, he went on the offensive against the other man. On the next swing from the Mummer he let the strike slide off of his shield, and then launched it forward into the man's face.  The impact was fierce and true, and Robb watched as the man began to spit blood and dislodged teeth. The disoriented man swung again, this time with less accuracy, which allowed Robb to side step and drive his sword through the man's exposed side.

            Two more men came at him and he deftly dispatched them with the edge of his blade. He was deep in the enemy line, when he heard shouts coming from behind him.  He looked over to his right and saw what the cause of concern was. A portion of their right flank had been broken through, and the enemy was trying to collapse on the center. Robb shouted back to Smalljon Umber, "Reinforce them!" and the Greatjon's son moved with a group of men to reinforce the weak spot.  Robb's attention had been turned away for too long though, and when he faced the Mummer's line again, he had to duck a blow meant for his skull.  Another man thrust a dagger at Robb with such force that it sliced through his armor and into his skin.  The pain was strong, and he could feel the warm wetness of his blood as it poured from the wound.  Ignoring the pain, he swung out with his fist and the knocked the man with the dagger to the ground.

            "Your Grace, there are too many," Lord Glover called from nearby, as he dealt a killing blow to his own opponent.  "We should fall back to the Castle!"

            Robb knew that he should issue the command to return to the Castle, but his pride was not having it.  This small army of sell swords had snuck up on him, and he wanted to break them. These men were good at what they did, though, and Robb was even more disturbed, as he had to walk over the bodies of his fallen men who littered the ground.  Eventually the reality of situation won out and his pride surrendered and he gave the order to retreat.  The front line served as a shield to allow the rest of the army to make its way to the Crag.  Robb thought they were in luck, because it seemed that the Mummers were satisfied to let them go, but then he heard more shouts from behind him.  As it turned out, the Westerlings truly were opportunists, and seeing that the Mummers had beaten Robb and his men back on one side, had decided to pin his forces into a vice.  Fully armored men on horseback charged from the Crag's gates and sliced through the Northern ranks, causing mayhem.  The attack had been unexpected, and Robb's men were broken apart even further from any formation they may have been in.  Men were picked off one by one as they were chased off from the group.

            Robb looked on, infuriated, as he watched his men die at the hands of the people who had just feasted them.  His reason began to leave him, and blood lust began to take over.  If this were to be day and place where his reign as King ended then he would leave the world with enemy blood on his hands. In the madness he locked onto a rider in armor that he recognized, that belonging to Ser Rolph Spicer. Robb watched as the man planted his sword into a Stark man's neck, and turned to look for another victim. Robb dropped his shield to the ground, and began to run as hard as his armor and wound would allow him. As he ran he kept his target in sight, lining up his attack.  When he was close enough to Ser Rolph he leapt off of his feet and thrust his sword out with both hands over his head, driving it through the torso of the still horsed knight. Robb had been moving so fast that he was out of control and he and the skewered knight fell over the horse, impacting the ground hard.  Unfortunately for Robb, the first part of his body to hit the ground was his head, and his vision immediately went dark.

 

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            The air was cool that evening, and the breeze off the water made it doubly so. Theon stood on the bow of the Black Wind, his Sister's ship, and watched as it broke through the rolling waves. He had to admire Asha. She had talked down the idea that many would be willing to join them in their journey, but she had still managed to scrounge together twenty ships and nearly twelve hundred crewmen. They were all sorts, those who had sailed with Asha, those who supported his claim to Lordship of the Iron Islands, and those who just wanted a chance to claim Casterly Rock. It did not matter to him as long as they were all willing to put their swords through Lannister bellies.

            "It won't be long now," Asha spoke from behind him. "The Crag is just a short sail from home.  Let's just hope your wolf is where he promised to be."

            "He'll be there," Theon promised, even though he had no way of knowing for sure.  It was possible that Tywin Lannister had intercepted the Northern army and wiped them all out, but he prayed to all the gods he knew that it wasn't such the case.

            Asha came and stood next to him.  "So tell me more about this King, you so admire.  I should at least know a little about him if you mean me to bend my knee to him."

            "I rather think you'll be expected to curtsey to his Grace. Bending the knee is for men."

            "And how about I make good on my promise to cut your balls off, and then you can curtsey as well, Brother," Asha smirked.  "Now answer the question."

            "I don't know what you want me to tell.  He's the son of Eddard Stark, which means that you're not likely to find someone else with more a sense of duty or honor in the whole Seven Kingdoms. It runs in their blood. He's serious about most things, although we got into our fair bit of trouble in Winterfell."

            "He must be a bore if he's so serious all the time," Asha commented. "Is he easy to look on, at the least?"

            "I don't think he's ever met a girl or woman who has not though so. Although not as handsome as me."

            "Well there is that at least," Asha sighed. 

            They stayed silent for a while and just listened to the sound of the waves before Theon asked a question that had been on his mind.  "Did our Father mention me often while I was gone?"

            "No," Asha responded bluntly, and it was like punch to the gut for him. "At first maybe, but not later. He lamented the fact that he had no heirs on the Islands.  I'm certain he believed that you would never return, either by your own choice or someone else's."

            "He may have been right," Theon admitted, only slightly reluctantly. "I think I was content at Winterfell.  If none of this business with the Lannisters had happened, I may never have returned."

            "There's no use worrying yourself over possibilities that don't matter anymore. The past is the past, and you're here now, no matter the means."

            "And what of the offer I brought with me.  Would Lord Balon Greyjoy have been receptive to it?"

            "I would not have bet gold on it," Asha responded. "He still always saw himself as something more than a Lord of a bunch of rocks, even if Robert Baratheon proved it not so, convincingly.  He never got over the loss of our brothers, either."

            The ship moved onward, and they did not move from their spots at the head of it. Eventually, though, shapes could be seen in the distance, and Theon was the first to notice. "Land," he called.

            "That would be the Crag," Asha informed him.  She reached to her belt and pulled a spyglass out. Putting it to her eye she looked out onto the shore.  Theon looked on as she stared out for minutes without saying a word.  Then suddenly her silence was broken.  "To arms!" she shouted moving towards the center of the ship.  "Up, up, to arms men!"

            Theon followed closely behind, confused at what was wrong. "What is it, Asha? What did you see?"

            "A battle on the beach," she answered.  "I saw wolf banners surrounded by men fighting under others I don't know.  It seems your King has found himself a spot of trouble."

            Theon immediately reached for the spyglass and looked for himself. Asha was certainly correct, there was definitely a battle in progress.  He saw the Stark colors, and it was easy to tell they were fighting a losing battle on two sides.  He did not know if Robb was in the fight or even whether he was still alive, but he had made a promise and he intended on keeping it.

 

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            "Wake up, Your Grace.  You _must_ stand up!"

            Robb's mind went from a state of complete nothingness to an overwhelming cacophony of sound and movement.  There were spots in his vision, and his ears rang, but he managed to shake those uncomfortable feelings off after a moment.  He looked up at the speaker and saw an exhausted Greatjon covered in blood, some likely his own.

            "The bastards have us pinned, Your Grace.  We have no hope of victory here.  You should take a horse and ride south.  This would all be worth nothing if they were to take you," the giant of a man pleaded with Robb.

            Robb shook the last remnants of his fall away and stood, while also reaching for his sword.  It was still deeply imbedded in Ser Rolph.  "I'm not going anywhere," he growled.  "I led these men here, and I will not leave them to face their fate alone."

            "Your Grace...Robb, I beg you to go," Lord Umber again pleaded. "If those foreigners get their hands on you, they'll do ungodly, unthinkable things to you. Please go, for the sake of those who have fallen today.  Bring the army back and crush these whore-sons!"

            Robb looked into the desperate eyes of his bannerman, and forced himself to turn away, or else he be convinced.  These were his men... his men bleeding and dying at this unremarkable place they called the Crag.  His Father would have never have left his men to die alone...and yet his Father had never been a king. He looked up into the sky, as if hoping that the right answer would come to him, but nothing did. Finally, after one more look at the Greatjon, possibly his last, he moved towards where Ser Rolph's mount was still standing unattended.  He hopped into the saddle, prepared to dart south, when something in the distance caught his attention.  More sails...coming from the North this time.  Theon had made good on his promise.

            Instead of turning south, Robb rode his horse through the remaining lines of his men. "Form lines!" he shouted to them, trying his best to rally them.  "Form lines!  The Iron born are here!"  Another knight from the Crag rode hard at him in a challenge, but Robb was ready. He blocked the man's strike and as the rider passed brought his own sword down in a slice through the man's back. Robb roared out in satisfaction, but had little time to admire his work as two more riders came for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a presence stir, and then out of nowhere, Grey Wind leaped and tore at one of the Westerling riders.  The man screamed in astounding agony, as his skin was ripped open without mercy.

            The other rider had turned pale as his fellow soldier was mauled, and Robb used the distraction to his advantage.  He surged forward, and before the man could even blink, Robb removed his head from his shoulders, blood spurting from the neck.  A cheer went up around Robb, and he could hear men calling his name.  He turned and faced the Mummers and saw them still advancing up the beach.  They had yet to realize that long boats full of soldiers from the Iron Islands were making their way to shore.

            "To me, men, to me!" Robb shouted, rallying the men who had been broken off from the main host.  "Do not despair!  We will win this day!"  Robb pushed his stolen horse forward, galloping towards the Mummer's line with Grey Wind running at his side. He hit the enemy line, and mercilessly began hacking at limbs of every man he could reach.  They were outnumbered now, but they just needed to hold for a while longer.   

 

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            After the Black Wind had anchored, Theon had been the first man into the longboat. Asha was stood behind him, directing the rowers, and it was not long before the boat had grounded on the beach. He hopped out of the boat, and his boots splashed into the surf.  He wanted to rush forward into the madness, but waited for the rest of the boat to disembark and form a line.  As soon as some semblance of one had been created, Theon drew his sword and made towards the back of the enemy force.  The enemy he ran towards was full of men the likes of which he had never encountered, all dressed in different, and strange battle attire. That fact did not give him pause as he ran his sword through the back of the first unsuspecting man he came to.

            Another enemy soldier realized the danger from behind, and was about to swing at Theon, when Asha approached and sliced through the attacker's arm. The Iron born drove fiercely through the Lannister force, which was now in a state of panic as it was enclosed by two hostile armies.  Some of the enemy began to throw down their arms in surrender, but many of the foreign-born fighters continued on out of pride.  That was quickly ripped away from them, along with their lives.

            Theon had barely been off of the long boat for ten minutes, and the battle was done. The field was covered with the dead, and the screams of the wounded permeated throughout the night. Theon and Asha moved through the remains of the Northern Army, looking for familiar faces.  Many of the Northmen and men of the Riverlands looked on at them in suspicion, but did nothing to discourage them.  Finally, Theon found the person he was looking for. The King in the North sat atop a horse, looking tired and ragged.  He was covered in blood and dirt, and his armor had been damaged in various places. Add that to his hair and beard, which were untamed as ever, and he truly looked like a man from beyond the Wall.

            When Robb noticed them, he carefully slid from his horse, holding tightly to his side where he must have suffered a wound.  Robb came forward and embraced Theon tightly, patting him on the back.  "I knew you would not make me look a fool for putting my faith in you, Greyjoy," Robb pulled back, grinning slightly.

            "I was not sure I would be here at all," Theon stated. "There were some complications when I arrived home."

            "What sort?" Robb asked.

            "My Father is dead."

            "I am sorry to hear that, Theon.  Speaking from my own loss, I grieve for yours."

            "We've gathered what forces we could, before our Uncles stake their claims to the Iron Islands.  It was my hope that after all this is finished that you would support my claim as Lord," Theon noted.

            "Of course," Robb responded.  "And who is this?" Robb asked gesturing over to Asha.

            "Asha Greyjoy, Your Grace," Asha answered, civilly. "Tell me is it a habit of yours to find yourself trapped between armies, or was this a one time occurrence?"

            "Asha!" Theon hissed.

            "My apologies.  I simply want to know what kind of mess I'm getting myself and my men into. No offense was meant."

            "I am always available for criticism," Robb joked. "If you have any that is constructive, I am more than willing to listen."

            "I can't guarantee the criticism would be helpful.  You may have to sift through it to find much of value," Asha smirked.

            "I'll do that," Robb agreed.  "Why don't you meet me in the Castle after you've settled your men? I have some business to attend to."

            "What business?" Theon inquired, curiously.

            "Oh, nothing of importance.  I simply mean to throw the inhabitants of the Crag into the dungeons. I've recently found myself unable to trust them."

            "I'll find a cask of wine, and have it waiting," Theon suggested. "You look like you could use a drink."

            "Aye, I could," Robb called as he made his way back towards the Castle.

            Theon turned to his Sister, who was watching the King walk away. "So, what do you think?"

            She looked over at him.  "I think we will probably all die in this venture," she stated, sounding certain. "But at least you were right about one thing.  He is not bad to look at."

            "Would you prefer it the other way round?  Certainty of life and ugly King?"

            "Where is the satisfaction in that?" She chuckled, as she walked back towards the other Iron born.

 

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            The fire in the hearth bled heat through his chambers that helped to settle him. A maester had stitched the wound in his side, but it still throbbed in pain.  Robb had refused anything for the pain, as he wanted to keep his wits. He would not be blindsided by anyone again as had happened that night. 

            A knock came at his door, and he called for the person to enter. A freshly clothed Greatjon entered the room, only a fresh cut down his left cheek evidencing any damage from the night.

            "Your Grace, I have the count if you would like to hear it," the Greatjon spoke.

            "Tell me."

            "Close to eight hundred men, Your Grace, plus the injured."

            "Too many," Robb sighed as he ran his hand through his beard. "It does not get any easier."

            "If it does, that is probably when you should begin to worry. You have lost something of yourself if losing a man under your command is an afterthought, Your Grace."

            "I trust my Bannermen will keep me in line," Robb stated. "How is your son? I sent him to reinforce the hole in our line and did not see him again."

            "Beaten and bloodied as the rest of us, Your Grace, but he'll live. What is to be done with the prisoners?"

            Robb had been spending time thinking on this matter before Lord Umber had arrived. It was always a challenge as to what to do with men captured in battle.  "The Lannister men we will hold here with a small garrison until the Rock is taken.  We are in the heart of the Westerlands, and it would be too much of a risk to let them go, even the lowborn. As for the sellswords, they are sentenced to die.  A message must be sent that foreign bands of soldiers will not be allowed to run around the Seven Kingdom's and terrorize innocent people."

            The Greatjon nodded his agreement.  "A just decision, Your Grace.  These are trying times, and difficult decision must be made. I'll gather some men and see that it's taken care of."

            "Thank you, Lord Umber," Robb said, and the Greatjon made his way out of the room.  The Northerner had only just left when Theon walked in carrying a cask of wine.  "I was wondering whether you would make good on your promise."

            Theon sat the cask down on the table between them.  "This place was severely lacking in quality wine. I wouldn't give most of what they had in their stores to the dogs.  This was the best I could find...it's shit, but it should do the job." Theon proceeded to fill two cups, and handed one to Robb, who immediately indulged.  The taste was bitter, almost too bitter to swallow. It made his eyes water and his throat burn, but he took another gulp all the same.  Theon grabbed a chair and sat down across from him. "So care to catch me up on events that I've been absent for?"  The Iron Islander took a drink from his cup, and Robb almost laughed at the tortured face he made.

            "Not too much of note," Robb began.  "We defended Wayfarer's Rest from attack, the Blackfish killed Gregor Clegane in single combat, we captured the Golden Tooth, we captured the Crag...and I'm holding Walder Frey prisoner at the Twins, or rather Jason Mallister is."

            "How the fuck did Walder Frey end up a prisoner in his own Castle? The last time I was with you, you were betrothed to one of his ugly daughters," Theon remarked in confusion.

            "I list you all of those impressive achievements, and it's Walder Frey that stands out?" Robb questioned.

            "It's the one I'm interested in, but now that I think on it, I probably should not be that surprised.  The man always struck me as a fool.  What did he do?"

            "Plotted with Tywin Lannister to betray me.  Luckily my squire has a conscious, or else we may not have discovered the treachery."

            "Should have taken the bastard's head," Theon commented.

            "I might yet put it on a spike.  However, right now it's safer if I keep him locked in a dungeon. No need to incite something that I am not in a position to defend against."

            "At least you've been given the mercy of not having to marry one of his daughters," Theon stated.

            "I _will_ drink to that." Robb raised his cup and threw the tannic liquid back.

            "Now we must find you a queen," Theon joked.  "Shall I send out ravens to all the Lords in the Seven Kingdoms requesting candidates for potential brides?"

            "I think your time would be better suited discussing a plan of attack for Casterly Rock.  Or should I request your Sister come and strategize with me instead?"

            "I would give her some time to get acclimated to the situation. She is not what I would call agreeable."

            "Oh, she is not fond of me?" Robb inquired.

            "In fairness, she isn't so fond of me either.  If she doesn't soften her feelings toward you, as Lord of the Iron Islands I would be more than willing to offer her as a potential bride, Your Grace.  She would have no choice then," Theon laughed.

            "Not that she isn't pleasant to look at, but I think I would fear she would slit my throat one evening while I slept."

            "I did not say the marriage would come without risks," Theon countered, finishing his first cup of wine.

            "Enough of this talk about wives," Robb begged, exasperated. "There will be time for that later. We have more pressing matters to attend to, namely how you are going to take Lannisport."

           

 


End file.
